-^ 


r 


YOUR  UNCLE  LEW 


"BUT    WHEN    SHE    CAME,     ALL    ELSK    IN    THE    WORLD 
TOOK  SECOND   PLACE." — Page  27. 


TOUR 
UNCLE    LRH 

•(**!"  "H"*!"  "T  "r*r  *f""*i*  "I*  "I"  "I"  *r  *l"  "I"  "I*  "I"  "r""'"  "r  *»"*«"""»"  T  *f"  "r  H""**  "I"  "*"  "I"   r  -i"*H*  "I"  "I"  "«""*»" 

A  Natural-born  American 

.;. .;..;.  +++.\.  .[,.[.  ,| .;.  .|..;.  i  .[.  ,[  .]. .;  .|.  .;  ]    i  !•  I  I"l  I  'i  !  •!•  1-  •!••!•  •!  •!•  -Mill 

A     NOVEL 

•1--1-1-  I  •!•  •!  •!•  -1--I-  -I  -I-  •;••!•  1-1-  •!•  !•  •!••!•  •!••>•  •!•  •!•  !  •!   !•  !•  •!•  I-  •!•  I-  *  I-  •!•!•  •!••!•  1  !•  1 

BY 

Charles  Reginald  S 

With  a  Frontispiece  by 

B.  finest  Clinedinst 


•1--M   II   II   II   I  !•  M   I'M  1   1111    i  I   I -I- •!'•!• -I  •»•  l-M-1   I  •!•  1  I   II   1 

ISeto  gcrft 

I7rederick  A.  Stokes  Company 
Publishers 


COPYRIGHT,  1901. 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY. 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


To 
MALCOLM  COMAN  MITCHELL, 

My  Friend. 


CONTENTS. 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE        ....      9 

I.  AT  THE  EATING-HOUSE  .        .       .13 

II.  THE  APPLE  OF  His  EYE        .        .31 

III.  THE  GILDED  CROSS         .        .        .44 

IV.  MEMORIES 56 

V.  A  STRANGER  IN  TOWN    .        .        .71 

VI.  THE  BOWER  OF  ROSES    .        .        .87 

VII.  A  NIGHT  AT  THE  HOTEL  CLUB      .  101 

VIII.  THE  CARDIFF  GIANT        .        .        .115 

IX.    FAST  FRIENDS 130 

X.  THE  BRIGHT  SIDE     .       .       .        .141 

XI.    HORSE  TALK 158 

XII.  FOLLOWING  A  CLUE         .       .        .172 

XIII.  THE  DETECTIVES      .        .        .        .185 

XIV.  "  A  BIBLE  BACK  "     .        .        .        .196 
XV.  A  TRADE  FOR  A  CUTTER         .        .213 

XVI.  PARTED  FRIENDS       ....  227 

XVII.  THE  LITTLE  BOB-TAIL     .        .       .245 

XVIII.  "TiiE  RIGHT  MAN".        .        .        .255 

XIX.  IN  LOVING  ARMS       .       .        .        .265 

XX.     CRAZY  JANE 275 

XXI.    THE  RACE 285 

XXII.  IN  AFTER  YEARS       ....  300 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE. 

WITH  an  eye  to  the  remote  chance  that  some 
reader  of  the  present  story  knows  of  a  little  book 
printed  in  paper  covers  in  1885  under  the  title  of 
"  The  Autobiography  of  an  Old  Sport,"  the  author 
seizes  upon  the  liberty  of  a  foreword  to  declare  the 
fact  that  the  anonymousness  of  that  simple  effort 
covers  his  handiwork.  The  preparation  of  that 
character  sketch  was  his  contribution  to  a  friendly 
undertaking  having  for  its  object  the  deliverance 
of  the  old  man  who  was  the  hero  of  the  narrative 
from  the  veritable  pangs  of  want.  Inasmuch  as  the 
publication,  sold  from  the  overcoat  pocket  of  "  the 
old  sport,"  served  to  lift  the  last  months  of  his  life 
out  of  the  shadows  into  the  sun,  and  finally  to  lay 
what  was  mortal  of  him  under  a  modest  stone,  its 
original  and  worthiest  design  was  happily  fulfilled. 
Its  drolleries,  its  oddities,  its  anecdotal  tidbits — 
transcripts  from  the  everyday  speech  of  a  Yorick  in 
the  flesh — were  bound  to  be  marked  for  possible 
employment  in  a  work  of  fiction,  and  for  that  use 


io  AUTHOR'S  NOTE. 

at  an  opportune  future  were  they  reserved.  Now, 
after  fifteen  years'  seasoning,  such  part  of  the  nar 
rative  as  seemed  available  for  more  presumptuous 
exploitation  has  been  put  between  these  covers,  ex 
cised,  modified,  and  elaborated  to  the  present  pur 
poses.  If  of  the  two  or  three  hundred  copies 
originally  circulated  there  be  now  a  stray  example, 
its  owner  will  be  able  better  to  note  where  truth 
ends  and  fiction  begins  in  this  story ;  for  aside  from 
resort  to  "  The  Autobiography  of  an  Old  Sport," 
there  is  a  grain  of  truth  herein — as  for  example,  the 
essential  facts  regarding  the  origin  and  discovery 
of  the  Cardiff  Giant.  The  author  believes,  in  fact, 
that  in  no  other  form  is  to  be  found  the  true  his 
tory  of  that  most  audacious  of  humbugs.  Keen 
delight  has  been  taken  in  here  unmasking  it.  The 
giant,  it  must  not  be  forgotten,  was  an  American. 
Its  ill-fame  is  a  blot  on  our  national  honour.  There 
may  be  those  among  our  critics  who  still  contend 
that  it  is  a  symbol  of  our  national  spirit.  To  con 
found  such  as  these  it  has  been  attempted  in  the 
following  pages  to  set  forth  a  man  of  flesh  and 
blood,  as  rough  hewn  as  the  Cardiff  Giant,  but  a 
man,  worthy  to  be  called  "  natural  born  " — that 
happy,  though  little  used,  description  of  the  native 
American  to  be  found  only  in  the  fifth  section  of 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE.  n 

Article  II  of  the  federal  Constitution  wherein  are 
defined  the  qualifications  of  those  citizens  who 
are  eligible  to  hold  the  office  of  President  of  the 
United  States. 

The  author  is  aware  that  to  have  written  a  story 
of  Central  New  York  is  to  have  awakened  the 
ghost  of  "  David  Harum  "—a  kindly  apparition  in 
this  instance,  however,  for  the  author  has  but  to 
listen  with  his  memory  to  hear  from  the  tomb  of 
Edward  Noyes  Westcott  the  gentle  words  that  per- 
haps  earlier  than  any  others  encouraged  a  task, 
many  times  laid  aside,  and  now  completed.  By  the 
quaint  veracities  of  "  The  Autobiography  of  an  Old 
Sport  "  Mr.  Westcott  was  quickly  struck,  and  to  him 
they  appealed  as  useful  elements  in  the  imaginative 
tale  the  author  thereupon  set  himself  the  task  to 
write.  Its  eventual  execution  is,  therefore,  due 
more  to  the  generous  influence  of  the  man  living 
than  to  the  achieved  success  of  the  novelist  dead. 

C.  R.  S. 


"Your  Uncle  Lew/' 

CHAPTER  I. 

AT  THE  EATING-HOUSE. 

THIS  much  could  be  said  of  Lewis  Dunbar,  what 
ever  arraignment  running  counter  thereto  was 
brought  by  those  who  missed  the  best  that  was  in 
the  man  :  Lewis  Dunbar  was  no  fool.  What  is 
here  told  goes  to  prove  it,  or  the  purpose  of  the 
tale  signally  fails.  Toward  the  very  end  of  his  life 
Dunbar  had  something  to  say  aptly  illustrating 
his  profound  objection  to  the  lack  of  common 
sense,  which  deficiency  in  a  man's  mental  equipment, 
according  to  his  crude  philosophy ,  constituted  be 
ing  a  natural-born  fool.  Fool  was  not  his  word,  of 
course. 

"  There's  a  sucker  born  every  minute,"  he  senten- 
tiously  remarked,  "  and  sta-tistics  prove  they  die  at 
the  rate  of  one  a  year." 


14  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

Dunbar  had  been  driving  a  sharp  bargain  that 
day,  and  was  glorying  in  the  net  result.  He  was 
not  a  man  to  mince  matters.  When  he  got  the  best 
of  a  trade  he  never  went  off  into  a  corner  to  gloat. 
He  liked  to  let  every  one  at  hand  share  his  elation, 
It  was  the  fashion  in  his  day  (as  it  is  now)  to  mark 
a  triumph  of  wit  or  of  skill,  or  a  domestic  epoch 
for  that  matter,  by  resort  to  bibulous  exhilaration  ; 
but  while  Lewis  Dunbar  observed  these  usages  of 
the  life  he  led,  it  was  not  in  this  he  excelled.  Peo 
ple  who  recalled  how  the  wine  flowed  when  his 
daughter  was  born,  thought  of  it  only  as  an  incident 
of  a  period  of  personal  luminosity,  in  which  a  proud 
parent  made  it  appear  he  had  achieved  something 
that  stood  to  be  recorded  for  all  time  as  a  marvel 
among  marvels.  Scores  of  strong  men,  who  were 
fathers  themselves,  were  so  beguiled  by  the  illusion 
that  they  affirmed  as  true,  undeniably  true,  Dunbar's 
greatness  in  paternity,  and  drained  the  flowing  bowl 
in  recognition  of  it. 

It  may  be,  as  some  said,  that  Dunbar  was  boast 
ful  ;  but  then  he  was  frankness  itself.  When  he 
wanted  to  buy  a  horse — and  if  he  set  his  eye  on  a 
beast,  it  was  as  good  as-  his  from  the  start — he  said 
so.  He  went  where  it  was  to  see  it  and  admire  it. 

"  Man  a-live,"  he  said  in  such  a  case,  "  I  want  the 


AT  THE  EATING-HOUSE.  15 

horse  or  I  don't  want  it.  If  it's  a  pelter  count  me 
out.  But  if  it  suits  me  you've  got  me  on  the  run. 
If  the  horse  suits  you  what's  the  good  of  sayin'  it's 
not  big  enough,  or  its  tail's  too  short,  or  its  colour 
too  light,  or  its  action  too  slow,  or — tellin'  a  lie 
about  it  anyway  ?  What's  the  use  ?  The  horse  / 
like,  I  like.  I  hurry  to  tell  the  man  so  :  '  There's 
the  very  horse  I've  been  lookin'  for.  Hear  me ! 
Just  right  as  to  size — how  many  hands  high  is  the 
mare  ? — Never  saw  a  finer  coat  of  hair  on  four  feet. 
She  steps  off  like  the  Queen  of  Sheba.  Dollars  to 
doughnuts  she's  got  speed  con-cealed  about  her  per 
son.  And  such  a  kind  eye  !  She's  all  right.  How 
much  ?  '  That's  the  way  I  go  at  it.  Then  says  the 
owner,  so  much  money.  '  Too  much,'  I  say,  '  and 
I'm  broken-hearted  about  it.  I'd  give  so  much, 
but  your  figure's  too  steep.'  '  I've  touched  bot 
tom,'  says  the  man.  '  Sorry,'  says  I,  '  for  I  have 
taken  a  fancy  to  that  mare.  You're  not  askin'  a 
cent  too  much  for  her — I'd  ask  as  much  if  she  was 
mine — but  she's  too  high-priced  for  your  Uncle 
Lew.'  And  off  I  starts.  Ten  to  one  he  hollers  at 
me  afore  I'm  out  of  the  smell  of  the  sweet  clover  in 
his  loft  to  come  and  take  her  at  my  price." 

It  was,  indeed,   a   rule   of   Dunbar's   life  to  buy 
things  at  his  price.     A  good  rule,  too,  you  will  say. 


16  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

So  it  happens  that  at  the  time  when  we  are  to 
look  in  on  him  day  by  day  as  he  journeys  along, 
Lewis  Dunbar  was  a  man  well-to-do  in  this  world. 
Well-to-do  in  this  instance  meant  that  he  was  able 
without  scrimping  himself  to  have  and  keep  horses 
to  his  fastidious  liking.  Men  were  rich  or  poor  in 
those  days  (say  thirty  and  forty  years  ago)  accord 
ing  to  their  financial  ability  to  indulge  the  love  of 
horse-flesh — a  love  that  is  inherent  in  most  of  us. 

In  all  the  State  of  New  York  there  was  not  a 
city  of  better  promise  than  the  one  in  which  he 
settled  down  for  good  and  all  to  turn  over  his 
honest  pennies.  Everybody  who  came  to  Salina, 
either  by  canal  packet  or  railroad  car,  was  saying 
so,  and  Dunbar  found  little  trouble  in  agreeing  with 
the  prevalent  opinion.  He  knew,  too,  what  he  was 
talking  about,  for  in  his  time  he  had  traced  the 
map  of  the  country  to  some  of  its  confines  with  the 
sharp  pencil  of  actual  contact. 

Native  to  the  soil,  Lewis  Dunbar,  before  he  had 
gone  to  wander  on  the  face  of  earth,  had  gained 
renown  in  Salina  as  a  man  of  quaint  speech,  a  wit 
in  fact,  whose  ready  tongue  was  never  at  a  loss  for 
a  happy  rejoinder,  or  whose  verbal  resources  ever 
fell  short  of  a  great  occasion.  They  used  to  tell — 
the  men  who  were  old  citizens  then — how  as  a 


AT  THE  EATING-HOUSE.  17 

youthful  hackman  he  stood  guard  at  the  depot 
awaiting  the  arrival  of  trains,  and  when  engaged  to 
drive  a  passenger  to  any  one  of  the  three  or  four 
inns  of  the  town — all  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the 
depot,  but  out  of  view  in  its  shadow — he  would 
whisk  his  team  three  or  four  times  around  the 
neighbouring  blocks,  and  deliver  his  passenger  at 
the  Salina  House,  the  St.  Charles  Hotel,  or  the 
Coffee  House,  with  an  abject  apology  for  the 
roughness  of  the  cobbles. 

"There's  talk,"  he  would  say,  "of  puttin'  up  a 
tavern  nearer  the  depot,  and  I  guess  it  'ould  pay, 
too,  though  we  hackmen  would  get  the  worst  end 
on  it — you  can  see  that  ?  " 

The  next  train  in  or  out  of  Salina,  puffing  and 
snorting  almost  under  the  very  eaves  of  the  hotel, 
would  set  the  newcomer  marvelling  how  this  could 
be  done  without  erecting  the  building  on  the  track 
itself. 

There  were  current  on  the  popular  tongue  scores 
of  quotations,  characteristic  of  his  verbal  alacrity, 
which  every  one  in  Salina  knew  by  heart  as  having 
originated  with  Lewis  Dunbar.  The  younger  men 
of  the  town,  those  who  were  just  then  giving  it 
spice,  had  had  these  things  from  their  elders,  and 
as  a  consequence  were  quite  prepared,  when  he 


18  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

"  came  home  to  roost  "  as  he  put  it,  to  test  his 
quality  on  their  own  account. 

Is  it  a  wonder,  then,  that  when  Dunbar  es 
tablished  himself  in  an  eating-house  hard  by  the 
depot,  his  old  stamping  ground,  the  jolly  young 
set  did  not  wait  for  the  gnawing  of  hunger  to  take 
them  to  his  door?  It  was  such  a  welcome  as  so 
good  a  soul  deserved  that  Dunbar  received.  It  was 
in  a  way  personal  magnetism  that  effected  this,  al 
though  the  nicer  eaters  among  the  throngs  were 
not  long  in  discovering  that  Dunbar's  gifts  of  genius 
included  a  culinary  intelligence  of  a  high  order. 
He  was  a  famous  cook.  Everybody  who  broke 
bread  under  his  roof  did  not  know  this — most  peo 
ple  munch  and  chew  in  total  ignorance  of  the  gen 
uine  delights  of  eating — but  for  those  who  liked  to 
feast  something  in  the  manner  of  Lucullus,  Lewis 
Dunbar  was  a  noble  host.  A  confirmed  gourmet 
himself,  Dunbar  took  no  keener  pleasure  than  in 
leading  appreciative  friends  along  the  same  paths 
of  delight. 

"  You  live  high,  old  friend,"  said  a  customer  who 
dropped  in  one  day  to  find  the  genial  Boniface  divid 
ing  with  dexterous  stroke  a  plump  partridge,  cooked 
to  a  turn,  and  garnished  to  suit  a  prince. 

"High,  my  boy,"  replied  Dunbar,  "high?     The 


AT  THE  EATING-HOUSE.  19 

a-roma  from  my  kitchen  would  break  Queen  Vic 
toria's  heart." 

There  were  wonderful  nights  in  Dunbar's  com 
pany,  beside  his  hospitable  board,  after  the  last 
trains  had  come  in ;  and  it  is  into  the  full  swing  of 
one  of  these  it  is  here  and  now  proposed  to  intro 
duce  the  reader  without  further  ado. 

First  of  all,  whom  have  we  here  ?  Through  the 
lifting  smoke  belching  in  snowy  volumes  from  how 
many  rolls  and  pipesful  of  tobacco  Heaven  could 
not  tell,  there  came  down  the  narrow  room,  over 
the  rows  of  long  tables  at  which  Dunbar's  patrons 
were  fed  ("  They  don't  eat,"  he  said,  "  we  jest  feed 
'em.")  the  gleam  of  precious  stones.  As  closer  ex 
amination  revealed,  this  sunburst  proceeded  from 
a  cluster  of  diamonds  set  in  the  form  of  a  cross,  a 
design  then  much  in  vogue.  This  array  was  borne 
on  the  ruffled  expanse  of  shirt  front  of  him  of  whom 
this  story  is  being  told.  "  The  crown  jewels,"  Dun- 
bar  called  them,  in  fanciful  reverence  for  their 
value,  and  as  the  token,  too,  of  his  achieved  in 
dependence  of  fortune.  You  could  not  look  Lewis 
Dunbar  full  in  the  face  without  first  blinking  your 
eyes  at  his  adornment.  Once  accustomed  to  the 
glare,  especially  when  softened  by  the  smoky  clouds 
enveloping  him,  you  saw  that  the  man  thus  em- 


20  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

blazoned  was  standing  at  good  height  in  his  stock 
ings,  and  wore  an  air  of  what  may  be  called  easy 
clumsiness.  Did  he  stand  in  his  stockings?  More 
properly  he  stood  in  his  boots,  high-top  boots,  into 
which  his  trousers  were  loosely  thrust,  as  if  he  had 
just  come  in  from  the  barn-yard.  His  boots  and  a 
tall  white  beaver  hat  made  him  a  marked  man. 
This  hat,  even  then  old-fashioned,  he  wore  invari 
ably  tilted  on  one  side  like  a  listed  mast,  its  angle 
being  matched,  as  a  rule,  by  a  cigar  screwed  in  the 
extreme  left  corner  of  the  mouth.  Almost  always, 
but  not  on  this  particular  night,  he  completed  a  toilet 
in  other  respects  quite  common  by  carrying  a  slim 
lath  for  a  walking-stick. 

When  he  talked  he  uttered  his  words  forcibly, 
projecting  them  straight  at  you  between  his  teeth 
while  he  bit  his  cigar-end.  No  dialect  marked  his 
manner  of  speech.  His  tongue  was  not  localized. 
He  had  travelled  too  far,  had  enriched  his  vocabu 
lary  too  copiously,  for  that.  Peculiar  uses  he  had 
for  words,  it  is  true,  and  pronunciations  for  some 
of  them  that  the  lexicographers  would  not  tolerate  ; 
but  he  soared  far  above  dialect.  He  had  an  ear  for 
euphonious  sound  and  a  love  of  rounded  periods, 
with  a  remarkable  memory  for  phrases.  Singular 
emphasis  was  imparted  to  certain  words  which 


AT  THE  EATING-HOUSE.  21 

belonged  to  his  habitual  speech  by  a  way  he  had 
of  prying  their  syllables  apart,  and  dwelling  hard 
on  a  disintegrated  section,  as  if  he  was  shaking  it 
viciously  between  his  teeth. 

In  manner,  at  first  blush,  Dunbar  seemed  cold 
and  disdainful.  Save  from  the  twinkle  in  his  eye, 
his  facial  aspect  was  one  that  did  not  suggest  heart- 
warmth. 

"  I  don't  half  believe,  Dunbar,"  said  Conductor 
Steph  Ashley,  one  of  the  goodly  fellows  who  were 
combining  their  efforts  this  night  to  eclipse  the 
moon  with  tobacco  smoke,  "  that  you  know  what  a 
decent  chap  you  are." 

To  which  Dunbar  made  answer  only  by  a  quizzi 
cal  elevation  of  his  cigar. 

"  He  doesn't  begin  to  know  how  funny  he  is," 
said  Tom  Holliday,  and  thereupon  a  half  dozen 
nearest  the  author  of  this  seemingly  innocent  re 
mark  warned  him  by  many  silent  tokens  to  avoid 
that  subject.  Dunbar's  intimates  were  aware  that 
if  they  expected  a  single  flash  of  merriment  from 
his  corner  his  fancy  must  be  allowed  to  play  with 
out  open  encouragement.  If  challenged,  though 
ever  so  discreetly,  to  be  entertaining,  like  a  turtle 
he  drew  in  his  head  and  resisted  attack  from  within 
an  impenetrable  shell. 


22  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

His  humour  was  a  spring  which  would  bubble 
clearly  if  left  to  its  natural  forces,  but  would  yield 
only  roiled  water  if  pumped. 

Holliday,  by  way  of  making  amends  for  his  un 
fortunate  comment,  suggested  that  whether  Dunbar 
knew  he  was  a  decent  chap  or  not,  the  Common 
Council  were  lamentably  ignorant  of  the  fact,  or  they 
would  have  made  an  exception  in  his  case  in  enforc 
ing  the  new  ordinance  which  prohibited  the  ringing 
of  bells  in  the  public  streets.  This  reference  to  a 
late  inspiration  of  the  city  fathers,  looking  to  the 
good  order  of  the  town,  was  just  the  turn  the  con 
versation  needed. 

"  Hungry  travellers  want  to  know  where  to  get 
doughnuts.  They  come  at  sound  of  the  bell. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it,  Lew  ?  "  Dunbar 
was  asked — a  question  of  pertinance,  seeing  that  it 
was  the  custom  of  every  eating-house  which  did 
business  in  and  about  the  depot  to  summon  the 
famished  passengers  from  incoming  trains  by  ring 
ing  a  bell  in  the  doorway. 

"  What  am  I  goin'  to  do  ?  "  Dunbar  said.  "  Why, 
sound  the  loud  tocsin  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea.  Didn't 
you  hear  my  bell  to-day,  when  silence  reigned  every 
where  else  up  and  down  the  alley  ?  " 

No,  nobody  had  heard  it — which  was    evidence 


AT  THE  EATING-HOUSE.  23 

that  no  one  of  the  number  had  been  in  that  neigh 
bourhood  that  day  while  the  trains  came  in  and 
went  out. 

"I'm  a  law-abidin'  citizen,  gentlemen,  as  you  all 
know,"  Dunbar  went  on.  "  So  the  bell  keeps 
ringin'  for  Sarah  from  my  door." 

"  You've  fixed  the  aldermen,  of  course,"  from 
one,  and  "  How'd  you  get  around  the  law?"  from 
another. 

"  O,  I'm  on  the  inside,"  Dunbar  said  as  he  sat 
down  with  an  air  of  complacency  hinting  unmis 
takably  that  something  was  coming. 

So  it  was.  Such  a  law  was  in  force  in  Salina,  and 
it  was  being  made  of  avail,  too,  through  the  best 
vigour  of  the  six  uniformed  policemen  that  Salina 
then  boasted.  But  this  law,  like  so  many  others  on 
the  statute  books,  had  its  weak  points,  and  Lewis 
Dunbar  struck  it  right  there.  It  stopped  bells  from 
being  rung  in  the  public  streets,  but  did  not  pretend 
to  exact  surrender  of  an  ancient  and  honoured 
method  of  domestic  summons  within  one's  own 
house.  It  was  still  permissible,  inasmuch  as  tyranny 
had  not  yet  superseded  liberty  under  the  "  constitu 
tion  and  by-laws  of  Jefferson  and  Hamilton,"  to 
call  a  household  to  breakfast,  or  dinner,  or  supper, 
by  a  method  so  approved.  Surely  no  Common 


24  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

Council  could  invade  a  man's  castle  in  that  way. 
No,  siree,  as  Dunbar  went  on  to  show,  he  could 
ring  a  bell  as  much  as  he  pleased  off  the  public 
streets.  Nor  was  there  a  law  to  compel  a  man^ 
honouring  the  law  in  its  spirit  and  letter  as  he  did, 
to  keep  his  front  door  shut  when  the  bell  was  ring 
ing.  Nothing  in  the  law,  either,  regulated  the  size 
of  bells  to  be  employed  in  this  perfectly  legal  man 
ner.  Dunbar  said  he  had  examined  it  with  able 
counsel  and  was  assured  of  his  rights  in  the  premises. 
Just  as  sure  was  he  that  it  was  within  bounds  of 
the  law  (not  to  speak  of  the  glorious  Declaration  of 
Independence)  to  give  forth  the  clangour  of  sound 
ing  brass  inside  his  own  place  of  business,  however 
tumultuous  the  knell,  while  a  bright-faced  boy  in  a 
white  apron,  armed  and  equipped  with  a  tongueless 
bell,  went  through  the  motions  of  ringing  a  bell  on 
the  outside. 

Which  showed  that  Lewis  Dunbar  had  a  head  on 
his  shoulders.  His  customers  did  not  care  from 
which  casting  of  brass  issued  the  clangourous  call. 
Indeed,  when  they  learned  how  ingeniously  Dunbar 
was  circumventing  the  Common  Council  of  Salina, 
they  ate  of  his  provender  with  the  more  relish  and 
advertised  him  abroad.  Hundreds  got  off  on  his 
side  of  the  trains  to  help  Dunbar  square  accounts 


AT  THE  EATING-HOUSE.  25 

with  an  oppressive  administration  of  city  affairs. 
They  would  ask  for  Dunbar's  eating-house  when  the 
grimy  cupola  of  the  depot  was  ringing  with  the  cries 
of  rival  establishments  nearer  at  hand,  and  follow 
the  sound  of  the  outlawed  bell  across  the  interven 
ing  alley. 

Dunbar's  doughnuts  were  well  nigh  as  famous  as 
his  bell.  A  visitor  to  Salina  would  no  more  think 
of  leaving  town  without  eating  of  them  than  he 
would  think  of  omitting  to  look  at  the  salt  works, 
then  the  great  industry  of  the  town.  It  was  of 
Dunbar's  doughnuts,  by  the  way,  that  his  friends 
were  talking  that  night  when  mention  of  the  bell 
ordinance  interrupted  the  discussion. 

"  They  say  your  doughnuts  are  very  filling,  Lew," 
remarked  Chet  Whitaker,  "  and  one  of  these  days 
I'm  going  to  try  one." 

"Fillin'?"  was  Dunbar's  reply,  "  fillin'  ?  Why 
three  of  'em'll  last  a  hungry  man  into  the  middle 
of  Wis-consin." 

"  I've  heard  so,"  Whitaker  went  on,  "  and  have 
felt  it  was  robbing  you  to  buy  them  at  so  small  a 
price.  Is  there  any  money  in  them  for  you,  or  do 
you  make  and  sell  them  out  of  philanthropic  mo 
tives  ?  " 

"  It's  the  best  part  of  my  business,"  Dunbar  said. 


26  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

"  Do  you  know  doughnut  makin's  forty  per  cent 
better'n  stealin'  ?  You  see,  ten  pounds  of  flour  and 
ten  pounds  of  lard'll  make — let  me  see — about  five 
thousand  doughnuts.  I'll  let  you  figure  the  profits 
with  doughnuts  sellin'  at  a  cent  apiece." 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  was  Whitaker's  rejoinder,  "  but  just 
flour  and  lard  won't  make  doughnuts.  You've  got 
to  sweeten  them,  and  sugar's  high." 

"  O,  the  sweetenin'  costs  little  of  anythin'," 
Dunbar  said.  "  I  work  it  this  way  :  While  they're 
bilin'  in  the  kittle,  I  hire  a  German  clari-on-ette 
player  to  grind  out  '  Hum,  Sweet  Hum  '  and  the 
doughnuts  come  out  tastin'  like  honey.  After 
the  cruel  war's  over  I  may  put  in  a  lee-tie  juice  of 
the  cane,  but  then  agin  I  mayn't." 

"  Is  your  process  patented,  Lew  ?  "  asked  Ashley. 
"  If  not  I'd  like  to  try  it  on  a  rich  old  aunt  of  mine 
I  want  to  sweeten." 

"  I'm  goin'  to  try  for  a  patent,"  said  Dunbar. 
"  That's  what  I'm  goin'  to  New  York  for  to-morrer. 
You  see  I've  got  the  doc-u-ments  here." 

With  this  Dunbar  produced  from  a  ponderous 
wallet,  pulled  from  an  inside  pocket  of  his  waist 
coat,  a  slip  of  paper  that  was  quickly  indentified  as 
a  railroad  pass.  Some  curiosity  was  expressed  in 
the  company  as  to  how  Dunbar  procured  it,  and  he 


AT  THE  EATING-HOUSE.  27 

was  not  loath  to  explain.  It  came  out  that  the  real 
object  Dunbar  had  in  undertaking  the  New  York 
trip  was  to  find  a  school  for  his  daughter,  whom,  he 
said,  he  was  about  to  remove  from  the  care  of  a  dis 
tant  relative  in  order  that  she  might  be  "  brought 
up  accordin'  to  Hoyle."  Grace  Dunbar  was  known 
to  Dunbar's  intimate  friends  as  a  sweet-faced  girl 
of  fifteen  or  sixteen  years,  to  whom  he  was  trying 
the  best  he  could  to  be  a  mother  as  well  as  a  father. 
Grace  never  came  to  Dunbar's  establishment  at  the 
depot  except  under  escort  of  the  uncommunicative 
woman  who  had  her  in  charge.  But  when  she 
came,  all  else  in  the  world  took  second  place.  Even 
a  train-load  of  famished  soldiers  on  the  way  to  the 
front,  or  to  the  rendezvous  at  Elmira,  had  to  stand 
aside.  The  fact  that  they  flashed  their  bounty 
money  in  Dunbar's  face  and  clamoured  for  all  he 
had  in  the  house  made  no  difference.  He  had  eyes 
only  for  the  girl. 

"So  you're  going  to  take  your  child  away,  are 
you,  Lew  ?  "  Ashley  put  in,  after  Dunbar  had  un- 
bosomed  himself  to  the  extent  indicated. 

"  I'm  goin'  down  to  the  burg,"  he  replied,  mov 
ing  uneasily  in  his  chair,  "  to  talk  with  my  attorneys 
— Charles  O'Conor  and  Rufus  Choate — about  that 
patent — and  to  transact  a  leetle  other  business." 


28  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

This  latter  with  a  touch  of  genuine  feeling. 

"  I  don't  want  to  encourage  a  grindin'  cor-pora- 
tion,"  he  continued,  "  so  I  dropped  in  yesterday  on 
Superintendent  Latham  to  see  if  I  couldn't  get  a 
pass.  I  didn't  want  to  trouble  my  old  friend  Dean 
Richmond,  you  see.  '  How  do,  Lewis?'  said  Mr. 
Latham.  I  said  '  How  do,  Mr.  Latham  ?  '  '  What 
can  I  do  for  you  ?'  he  says.  '  Nothin'  much,1  says 
I.  '  Come  now,'  says  he,  '  what  is  it  ?  '  '  Well,' 
says  I,  '  I'd  like  a  pass  for  two  to  New  York,'  and 
he  took  it  kindly.  '  To  New  York,'  he  said,  '  don't 
you  want  to  come  back  ?  '  said  he,  and  I  knew  it 
was  all  right.  'Yes,'  I  said,  'one  of  us  does.'  And 
while  I  talked  he  made  pen  tracks.  Then  he 
handed  me  this  re-ward  of  merit." 

Dunbarwas  fondling  the  pass  between  his  thumb 
and  forefinger. 

"  Is  that  all?"  remarked  the  conductor. 

"  Jest  what  he  said,"  Dunbar  replied — "  '  Is  that 
all?'  Seein'  I  had  him  on  the  run,  I  said  somethin* 
else.  Said  I :  '  It's  a  kind  of  trouble  to  you,  Mr. 
Latham,  to  have  me  callin'  once  or  twice  a  year  for 
these?'  'No  trouble  at  all,'  he  says.  'Yes,  it  is,' 
I  says, '  and  I've  been  thinkin'  it'd  help  out  if  I  had 
an  annual.'  ' 

"An  annual  pass?"  asked  Whitaker,  reflecting 


AT  THE  EATING-HOUSE.  29 

the  general  surprise  of  the  others  that  their  old 
friend  should  be  so  importunate. 

"Just  what  lie  said,"  Dunbar  went  on.  "And  I 
said  '  Yes.'  '  Come  now,'  he  says,  '  why  should  you 
have  an  annual  ?  '  You  see  the  temper-a-ture  was 
droppin'  like  soot  through  a  stovepipe.  '  Don't  I 
feed  your  passengers?'  I  says.  'Dean  Richmond 
ought  to  know  that,'  I  says.  '  Yes,'  he  says,  '  but 
where  does  the  obli-ga-tion  come  in,  the  value  re 
ceived  ?  The  railroad  don't  give  annuals  for  nothin',' 
he  says.  '  Obli-ga-tion  ?  '  I  says,  '  obli-ga-tion  ? 
Don't  I  feed  the  railroad's  passengers?  Wouldn't 
they  starve  to  death  if  it  wasn't  for  me  ? '  '  And 
wouldn't  you  starve  to  death  if  it  wasn't  for  them 
and  the  railroad,'  he  says.  '  You  ought  to  pay  the 
railroad,'  he  says,  '  for  givin'  you  business.'  '  No,' 
I  says, '  that's  not  it.  Don't  I  feed  the  passengers  ?  ' 
I  says.  He  says,  '  Yes,'  and  then  I  had  him." 

"  Had  him  ?     How  ?  "  asked  Ashley. 

"How?  How?"  was  Dunbar's  reply.  "This 
way,  and  Mr.  Latham,  bein'  a  man  of  sense,  saw  it. 
'Don't  I  feed  your  passengers? '  I  says.  'Yes,'  he 
says.  '  And  don't  I  feed  'em  so's  you  can  get  three 
in  a  seat,  and  cut  out  a  car  every  time  you  run  a 
train  into  Salina?  " 

"And  you  got  your  annual?  "was  Whitaker's 
question, 


30  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

"  Not  yet,  but  I  got  a  letter  to  the  high-mock-a- 
mocks  in  New  York,  and  Mr.  Latham  says  they 
won't  be  able  to  re-sist  my  argument." 

"  You  ought  to  have  been  a  lawyer,  Uncle  Lew," 
was  the  comment  of  Charlie  Greenfield,  "how  did 
you  come  to  miss  being  one  ?  " 

"  Miscue,  I  guess,"  was  the  eating-house  keeper's 
answer.  "  But  I'm  a  long  way  from  done,  yet,  so 
don't  look  sur-prised  if  I  come  home  with  a  chattel 
mortgage  on  Charles  O'Conor  and  Rufus  Choate's 
belongin's." 

But  Dunbar  brought  nothing  back  from  New 
York  but  a  heavy  heart,  and  the  reason  therefor 
will  presently  appear. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  APPLE  OF  HIS  EYE. 

Two  or  three  days  later  Lewis  Dunbar  was  safely 
aboard  an  outgoing  train  with  his  daughter  by  his 
side.  There  were  tear-drops  in  her  eyes  as  she 
waved  her  hand  to  the  good  woman  who  had  just 
surrendered  her  charge,  as  she  felt,  if  Grace  did  not, 
for  all  time.  The  handkerchief  with  which  the 
father  wiped  away  the  moisture  from  his  daughter's 
cheek  might  have  been  used  as  well  on  his  own. 
Grace  nestled  at  her  father's  side  when  the  train 
drew  out  of  the  depot  and  rolled  rather  leisurely 
through  the  long  street,  into  the  tunnel  under  the 
canal,  and  out  into  the  green  fields. 

"  So  you're  off  for  the  big  city  ?  "  was  Conductor 
Ashley's  salutation  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  when 
Dunbar  handed  him  the  pass  in  prompt  recognition 
of  his  demand  for  "  Tickets  !  "  as  he  swung  open  the 
door  at  the  front  end  of  the  car.  "  And  this  is 
your  girl,  eh?  Sis,  be  careful  your  papa  doesn't 
lose  his  money  at  three  card-monte  in  New  York, 
won't  you  ?  " 


32  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

Dunbar  and  Ashley  were  great  cronies,  but  this 
morning  this  was  not  so  manifest  as  usual,  it  being 
plain  that  Dunbar  was  not  in  the  mood  for  levity  ; 
or  perhaps  he  resented  being  prodded  into  any  dis 
play  of  it  in  the  presence  of  his  daughter.  So  the 
conductor  went  down  the  aisle  about  his  business. 

"  Were  you  ever  in  New  York  ?  "  asked  Grace 
after  a  little  while,  looking  up  into  Dunbar's  face. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I've  been  there." 

"  You've  been  everywhere,  haven't  you  ?  " 

"  Pretty  much  everywhere,"  said  Dunbar,  and  by 
this  time  he  felt  that  juvenile  curiosity  was  develop 
ing  a  serious  question. 

"  Do  people  who  go  there  always  lose  money  ?  " 
Grace  asked.  It  was  evident  the  conductor's  gibe 
had  struck  in. 

"  Ask  the  con-ductor,"  Dunbar  replied,  gently 
tucking  Grace's  form  a  little  closer.  Quoting  it 
word  for  word,  his  conversation  indicates  a  curtness 
on  Dunbar's  part  that  was  far,  very  far,  from  repre 
senting  his  real  feelings.  But  as  prolific  as  his 
vocabulary  was,  it  was  absolutely  devoid  of  such 
terms  of  endearment  as  usually  enliven  the  inter 
course  of  a  father  and  daughter.  Somehow  or 
other  he  had  missed  learning  the  tender  phrases 
the  paternal  instinct  coins  to  express  its  love  in.  It 


THE  APPLE  OF  HIS  EYE.  33 

seemed  as  if  this  plain,  blunt,  wordly-wise  man  was 
in  actual  dread  of  the  blue-eyed  girl  at  his  side ; 
fearful  even  of  the  wistful  glances  which  now  and 
then  searched  his  face  ;  for  father  and  daughter 
had  not  been  so  much  together  that  they  knew 
each  other  any  too  well.  Grace,  it  was  plain,  was 
to  a  certain  degree  in  awe  of  the  man,  and  he  was 
too  keen  not  to  perceive  this  feeling  of  timidity, 
without  knowing  how  to  overcome  and  dissipate  it. 
It  was  the  natural  consequence  of  the  paternal  and 
filial  instincts  having  had  slack  opportunity  of  be 
coming  welded  by  the  most  common  of  Nature's 
laws. 

Dunbar  took  care  of  Grace,  and  took  care  of  her, 
too,  with  a  lavish  hand — but  what  he  did  was  mostly 
the  result  of  kindly  suggestion  from  either  the  girl 
herself  or  her  custodian.  He  had  anticipated  her 
wants  and  desires  only  in  such  trivial  matters  as 
keeping  her  supplied  with  candy,  or  pin-money,  or 
seeing  that  she  had  a  sled  in  winter  and  a  doll- 
carriage  in  summer.  The  bills  he  paid  for  her 
dresses  and  fixings  at  the  best  stores  in  Salina 
satisfied  him  that  he  was  doing  by  Grace  what  a  lov 
ing  father  should,  and  he  did  it  all,  so  far  as  it  went, 
with  infinite  pleasure.  He  had  been  very  urgent 
always  with  the  woman  who  had  charge  of  her  that 


34  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

no  wish  of  his  daughter's  should  miss  reaching  him. 
Although  this  mandate  was  not  obeyed  to  the 
letter,  its  issue  was  evidence  of  what  was  in  the 
father's  mind.  He  thought  of  her,  of  course,  but 
not  quite  in  the  way  fathers  usually  do  of  their 
children. 

The  very  idea  he  was  carrying  out  this  day,  now 
that  he  was  taking  Grace  to  New  York  to  place  her 
in  a  convent  school,  was  suggested  to  him  by  a 
chance  visit  to  his  eating-house  of  a  widowed  mother 
and  her  daughter,  a  child  of  about  Grace's  age. 
While  they  partook  of  a  hasty  lunch  during  the 
old-time  "  Ten  minutes  for  refreshments  "  Dunbar 
had  heard  the  mother  telling  the  waiter  of  her  in 
tentions.  What  he  heard  solved  a  problem  long  in 
his  mind.  All  there  was  about  it  was  that  he 
wanted  Grace  to  have  "  the  best  money  could  buy," 
and  better  than  was  obtainable  in  the  world  of 
which  he  was  a  part.  It  was  an  odd  thing  for  Lewis 
Dunbar  to  do,  people  said,  but  he  did  it,  as  he  did 
many  another  eccentric  thing.  It  had  been  a 
neighbourhood  story  that  Grace's  mother  had  been 
"  a  little  too  good  for  what  she  married  "  and  that 
she  would  be  happier  dead  than  alive.  But  this 
was  a  story  fifteen  or  sixteen  years  old — as  old  as 
Grace  herself — whose  coming  into  the  world  had 


THE  APPLE  OF  HIS  EYE.  35 

been  marked  soon  after  by  the  death  of  the  mother. 
People  had  forgotten  it  all  now.  Those  who  recalled 
that  Dunbar  had  "  gone  West "  within  the  year  of 
his  bereavement,  knew  he  had  returned  to  Salina  a 
widower  still.  They  never  knew,  for  there  was  no 
one  to  tell  them,  how  as  time  went  on  the  neigh 
bours'  idle  gossip  became  the  strongest  conviction  of 
Dunbar's  life. 

All  these  things  were  passing  in  the  mental  re 
view  of  Dunbar  as  the  train  sped  on,  Grace  nestling 
at  his  side.  By  and  by  Grace  turned  from  an  ab 
sorbed  contemplation  of  scenery  visible  from  the 
car  window  and  said  : 

"  If  m-amma  was  alive  she  would  be  going  to  New 
York  with  us,  wouldn't  she?  " 

Dunbar  was  at  a  loss  for  an  answer  to  this  inquiry. 
He  was  happily  relieved  by  the  entrance  of  Con 
ductor  Ashley,  who  came  directly  to  Dunbar's 
seat.  Grace  instantly  thought  of  the  other  question 
which  Dunbar  had  left  unanswered. 

"  Papa  asked  me  to  ask  you,"  she  said  rather 
timidly,  "  if  every  one  who  went  to  New  York  lost 
his  money  ?  " 

Ashley  looked  puzzled.  He  had  forgotten  his 
thrust  at  his  friend.  Dunbar  himself  had  to  think 
twice  before  recalling  the  incident. 


36  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

"  The  gal  thinks  the  old  man  might  be  plucked 
by  the  card  sharps,"  Dunbar  remarked,  when  he 
recalled  it. 

"O,  your  dad's  all  right,"  the  conductor  said. 
"  I  guess  he  knows  enough  to  go  in  when  it  rains." 

An  aphonjm  which  was  of  course  wholly  lost  on 
the  girl,  save  that  the  manner  of  Ashley's  speech,  if 
not  its  exact  words,  told  her  .  real  danger  lurked 
in  their  path. 

"  But  every  one  is  not  as  wise  as  you  are,  Dun- 
bar,"  Ashley  went  on.  "  There's  a  pretty  slick 
fellow  in  the  front  car  who  seems  to  have  found 
some  good  customers  at  a  dice  game.  You  ought 
to  go  in  and  see  him  work.  Perhaps  you  know 
him.  Anyway  he'd  keep  you  guessing." 

An  approaching  station  took  the  conductor  away, 
leaving  Dunbar  and  Grace  to  their  own  resources. 
An  elderly  woman  in  the  seat  ahead  who  had 
spoken  to  Grace  once  or  twice  in  a  kindly  way  now 
offered  her  a  picture  paper,  and  its  acceptance 
opened  a  conversation  which  finally  resulted  in 
Grace  taking  a  seat  with  her  new-found  acquaint 
ance. 

Dunbar,  seeing  that  she  was  happily  employed, 
concluded  to  take  a  look  into  the  front  car,  his 
curiosity  having  been  aroused,  no  doubt,  by  the  re- 


THE  APPLE  OF  HIS  EYE.  37 

port  that  something  in  the  nature  of  a  game  of 
chance  was  in  progress  there.  He  said  to  Grace 
that  he  was  going  to  smoke. 

Dunbar  thought  he  could  call  by  name  every  man 
who  shuffled  a  deck  or  shook  a  dice  box  on  the  line 
of  the  railroad,  but  the  shifty  gentleman  whose 
operations  had  so  interested  the  smoking  car  passen 
gers  was  a  stranger  to,. him. 

Conductor  Ashley  was  among  the  onlookers  when 
Dunbar  strolled  into  the  car. 

"  Who's  your  friend  ?  "  Ashley  asked. 

"  Don't  know  him  from  a  side  of  sole  leather," 
Dunbar  replied.  "  But  he's  quite  a  trickster  with 
the  spotted  bones,  I  can  tell  you." 

The  stranger  was  certainly  making  his  fare  to  the 
next  station,  judging  by  the  drift  of  the  game. 

"  Want  to  try  your  luck,  friend  ? "  said  the 
stranger,  looking  up  at  Dunbar,  who,  by  this  time, 
was  at  close  range.  Four  players  were  occupying 
two  seats  facing  one  another,  a  carpet  sack  serving 
as  a  board  on  which  to  turn  out  the  dice. 

"No  great  hurry 'bout  it,"  Dunbar  said.  "I'll 
wait  till  the  clock  in  the  steeple  strikes  twelve,  and 
then  pre-haps  I'll  jine  in." 

"  Any  time,"  said  the  stranger. 

Ashley  was  at  Dunbar's  ear, 


38  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

"  He's  got  it  down  fine,  hasn't  he  ?  "  the  con 
ductor  remarked. 

"Sure  as  preachin',"  Dunbar  rejoined. 

At  this  juncture  one  of  the  players,  a  young  fel 
low  who  might  have  been  a  college  student,  got  up 
with  the  remark  that  he  was  through.  No  one 
among  those  who  clustered  about  dropped  into  the 
vacant  place. 

11  Interested  yet,  old  man  ?  "  said  the  stranger. 

"  I  begin  to  itch  a  leetle,  sonny,"  Dunbar  said. 

"  Your  money  is  as  good  as  any  other  man's," 
said  the  stranger  as  he  threw  deuces  and  lost. 
"And  so  is  mine,  you  see,"  he  added.  The  sus 
picious  might  have  called  it  bait. 

"  I'm  a  very  humble  dweller  on  the  face  of  this 
earth,"  Dunbar  said,  "  and  might  not  last  long." 

The  stranger's  eyes  made  a  swift  survey  of  his 
man. 

"  I'll  put  my  bank  roll  against  your  sparklers," 
he  said,  indicating  with  a  nod  Dunbar's  diamond 
breast-pin. 

"  The  crown  jewels  are  your'n  if  you  win  'em." 

Whereupon  Dunbar  plumped  himself  into  the 
vacant  seat.  "  You're  quite  a  wizard  at  dice,"  he 
said,  "  but  if  you  covet  the  lustre  of  the  crown 
jewels  you've  got  to  come  down  with  the  rhino. 


THE  APPLE  OF  HIS  EYE.  39 

I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do  :  Let's  make  it  a  five-dollar 
clip." 

"You're  the  doctor,"  the  stranger  said. 

The  two  passengers  remaining  in  the  game  up  to 
this  point  agreed  in  a  breath  that  they  would  be 
come  spectators. 

"  You  won't  mind,"  said  Dunbar,  "  swappin' 
horses  crossin'  the  stream,  if  we're  goin'  to  make 
my  bug  the  stake  ?  " 

And  Dunbar  produced  from  his  breeches  pocket 
three  dice  a  little  the  worse  for  wear. 

The  stranger  winced  a  trifle,  the  onlookers 
thought. 

"  I  like  my  own  fixings  best,"  he  said. 

"  But  we're  playing  for  the  crown  jewels,"  Dun- 
bar  replied  in  a  persuasive  voice. 

The  stranger  looked  at  Dunbar  as  if  he  were  try 
ing  to  peer  into  his  very  soul.  It  was  one  of  those 
glances  that  cut  like  a  knife.  He  evidently  wanted 
to  beware  of  catching  a  Tartar.  Then  he  picked 
Dunbar's  dice  from  the  board,  and  rolling  them 
over  and  over  in  his  open  palm,  made  this  prop 
osition  : 

"  Well,  mister,  I'll  go  considerable  on  this  spec 
ulation,  with  your  tools,  if  you  don't  mind  me 
doubling  on  you  ?" 


40  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

Dunbar  promptly  answered  : 

"  Nary  mind.  Joy  be  with  you.  Only  you  must 
stick  to  one  number.  We  always  shake  dice  that 
way  at  the  corner  grocery." 

"  All  right,  I'm  down,"  and  on  the  board  went  a 
five-dollar  note.  The  stranger  was  playing  sixes. 

"I'll  jiggle  and  wiggle  them  good  and  hard," 
said  Dunbar,  "  so  you  can't  complain  you're  not 
gettin'  the  wuth  of  your  money." 

Out  rolled  the  dice.  They  came  up  treys.  Dun- 
bar  had  won. 

"Sixes  again,"  said  the  stranger,  backing  his 
choice  with  another  note. 

"  I'll  give  them  another  tilt,"  Dunbar  said,  "  just 
for  luck.  There  you  be." 

The  stranger  had  hardly  laid  down  his  wager  be 
fore  the  dice  showed  the  trey  sides  again. 

"  Treys,  eh  ?  "  was  the  loser's  exclamation. 

"  Sure  'nough,"  Dunbar  said.  "  They're  trained 
to  come  up  that  way." 

"  Down,"  the  stranger  cried,  as  he  began  to 
fidget,  but  placing  his  five  dollars  on  the  board  as 
before. 

"  You're  a  reg-u-lar  fightin*  chicken,  ain't  you  ?  " 
put  in  Dunbar,  as  he  tossed  a  bank  note  into  the 
centre. 


THE  APPLE  OF  HIS  EYE.  41 

The  dice  rattled  again,  and  the  turn  of  the  box 
brought  forward  the  old  familiar  treys. 

"This  time  I  give  you  the  double  hitch,"  said 
the  stranger,  as  he  put  down  ten  dollars. 

Dunbar  matched  the  bet  and  fondled  the  little 
box,  which  on  the  instant  turned  the  dice  treys  up 
as  before. 

"  Twenty  down,"  was  the  answer  of  the  stranger, 
who,  by  this  time  was  showing  colour  in  his  cheeks. 

"  So  much  more  for  the  scrap  heap,"  said  Dun- 
bar  as  demurely  as  you  please.  "  Let's  go  in  with 
head  and  tail  up." 

As  Dunbar  was  about  to  make  the  next  throw, 
the  stranger  spasmodically  caught  his  arm,  and  said  : 

"  Those  skulls  may  be  all  right,  but  say,  old  top, 
if  you  do  have  the  luck  to  hatch  out  treys  again, 
I'll  eat  them." 

"Well,"  Dunbar  drawled  out,  holding  the  box 
over  the  dice  after  turning  it,  "  I'll  give  you  a 
dinner  off  the  bones." 

Up  came  the  treys.  The  next  moment  the 
stranger,  as  good  as  his  word,  snatched  the  dice 
from  the  board  and  thrust  them  into  his  mouth. 

"  Skins  and  all,"  Dunbar  said  as  he  raked  in  the 
pot. 

"  Give  me  back  my  money,"  shouted  the  stranger, 


42  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

starting  from  his  seat,  and  scattering  the  group  of 
passengers  who  had  collected  around  the  improvised 
gaming  table.  "  Those  bones  are  loaded,  and  you've 
cheated  me." 

"  You  know  beans  when  the  bag's  open,"  Dunbar 
replied.  "  They  are  chuck  full  of  lead,  and  if  you 
swallow  'em,  they  won't  set  well  on  your  stummick. 
Are  you  all  done,  or  do  you  throw  up  the  sponge?" 

"  Give  me  back  my  money,"  cried  the  gambler, 
making  a  pugnacious  advance  toward  Dunbar,  whose 
answer  was : 

"  Five  dollars  of  your  pewter  for  my  bones,  and 
if  you  say  the  word,  double  or  quits  on  the  next 
throw." 

By  this,  the  stranger  was  within  reach.  The  next 
instant  Dunbar  had  spun  his  man  around  by  the 
shoulders,  and  fetching  him  a  sounding  blow  on  the 
back,  sent  him  half  way  the  length  of  the  car.  In 
the  lurch  he  gasped,  and  from  his  open  mouth  the 
dice  fell  on  the  floor  in  front  of  him. 

"  The  sea  gives  up  its  dead  !  "  cried  Dunbar. 

The  stranger,  still  struggling  to  get  his  breath, 
bent  down  to  recover  the  dice,  when  he  suddenly 
stopped,  and  drawing  back  his  outstretched  hand, 
exclaimed  in  a  feeble,  despairing  voice : 

"  Well,  I'll  be  teetotally  damned  if  those  skulls 
haven't  turned  up  treys  again  !  " 


THE  APPLE  OF  HIS  EYE.  43 

It  was  indeed  so.  A  roar  went  through  the  car, 
in  which  the  stranger  did  not  join.  The  brakeman 
recovered  the  dice,  and  dashing  them  with  water 
handed  them  back  to  Dunbar,  who  immediately 
turned  to  the  stranger,  with  the  remark  : 

"  You  had  better  ask  the  conductor  to  wake  you 
at  the  next  station.  You  want  to  get  off  there." 

And  he  did.  He  offered,  in  recognition  of  a  sug 
gestion  made  by  Dunbar,  to  refund  the  money  he 
had  won  from  the  others  who  had  played  at  dice 
with  him.  They  thought  he  had  been  sufficiently 
punished,  and  as  the  winnings  from  them  had  been 
small,  he  took  his  ill-gotten  gains  with  him,  Dunbar 
making  good  to  them  their  losses  by  a  division  of 
his  spoils. 

When  Dunbar  returned  to  the  car  in  which  he 
had  left  Grace,  he  found  her  fast  asleep  with  a  pic 
ture  paper  crumpled  in  her  hand.  He  nodded  in 
fitful  slumber  a  good  part  of  the  way  to  Albany, 
where  the  crossing  of  the  Hudson  River  was  made 
by  ferry,  and  where  he  and  Grace  had  a  bite  to  eat. 
It  was  dark  when  they  reached  New  York.  Grace 
was  so  tired  with  the  long  journey  that  she  saw  little 
of  Broadway  as  she  went  rumbling  down  that  great 
street  to  the  Astor  House  in  a  dimly  lighted  stage. 

The  new  world  she  had  entered  was  not  revealed 
to  her  until  the  following  morning. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  GILDED  CROSS. 

GRACE  had  gone  to  bed  at  1 1  o'clock  in  a  room 
opening  off  the  one  assigned  to  Dunbar.  On  his 
arrival  at  the  hotel  he  had  requested  the  assistance 
of  a  chambermaid,  into  whose  care  he  had  transferred 
her  with  a  solicitous  admonition  not  to  leave  her  if 
she  appeared  to  be  afraid,  and  an  intimation  that 
watchfulness  over  the  girl  would  not  go  unrewarded. 
Grace,  of  course,  showed  no  sign  of  fear,  and  once 
alone  went  fast  asleep.  When  Dunbar  came  up  to 
his  room  an  hour  later,  he  looked  into  her  room  to 
see  if  she  was  safe.  He  felt  a  tugging  at  his  heart, 
as  if  to  go  in  and  kiss  the  sweet  face  on  which  the 
faint  light  fell,  but  he  drew  the  door  partly  shut  in 
stead,  and  tiptoed  about  his  own  room  in  a  way  that 
quite  surprised  himself. 

When  he  awoke  next  morning,  and  rolled  over 
preparatory  to  getting  up,  he  heard  Grace  run  out 
of  his  room,  the  windows  of  which  he  found  faced 
Broadway.  Her  windows  looked  out  on  the  side 
street.  It  appeared  she  had  been  awake  and  dressed 


THE  GILDED  CROSS.  45 

for  an  hour  or  more,  and  with  wonderful  interest 
had  been  watching  the  great  city  get  into  daily 
motion.  The  din  and  bustle  were  ringing  in  her 
ears.  She  had  been  trying  to  identify  the  various 
noises  which  combined  to  shake  the  air  about  her — 
the  tooting  of  the  steamboats  on  the  river,  the  shrill 
cries  of  the  newsboys,  the  rumble  of  the  cars,  the 
shouts  of  the  draymen,  the  calls  of  the  bellboys  in 
the  hotel  halls.  It  wa's  all  very  strange  to  a  country 
girl. 

"  I  didn't  make  a  noise  and  wake  you  up,  did  I, 
papa?"  Grace  asked  when  Dunbar  said  she  might 
come  in. 

"  No.  I  heard  the  voice  of  the  sluggard  callin'. 
Now  we'll  go  down  and  see  what  the  larder  of  this 
tavern  af-fords  the  weary  traveller." 

At  the  breakfast  table  Dunbar  told  Grace  that 
the  Convent  of  St.  Mary  the  Virgin,  whither  they 
were  bound,  was  not  in  New  York,  but  in  Brooklyn, 
and  that  in  order  to  get  there  they  would  have  to 
take  another  ride  on  a  steamboat  as  they  had  done 
at  Albany.  He  looked  at  an  addressed  envelope 
he  took  from  his  wallet,  and  said  he  thought  he 
could  discover  the  hiding-place  of  the  nuns  without 
hiring  a  guide.  Not  all  of  these  comments  by  her 
father  were  fully  comprehended  by  Grace.  She 


46  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

did  not  always  try  to  fathom  his  meaning.  She 
was  just  of  the  age  when  she  knew  that  there  are 
things  that  require  years  of  experience  to  under 
stand. 

Grace  had  seen  more  of  her  father  on  this  trip 
from  Salina  to  New  York  than  it  had  been  her  good 
fortune  to  do  before,  and  had  yielded  an  increased 
admiration  to  him  as  a  man  who  was  familiar  with 
everything  about  him.  On  the  way  to  New  York  he 
had  entertained  her  by  pointing  out,  as  they  passed 
them,  the  many  places  of  interest  on  the  line  of 
the  railroad.  Out  of  the  volume  of  his  experiences 
and  vicissitudes  as  a  wandering  spirit,  earlier  in  life, 
he  had  taken  pains  to  enlighten  her.  While  they 
stayed  at  Albany,  for  example,  he  told  her  of  the 
meetings  of  the  legislature,  the  men  who  made  the 
laws,  omitting  such  details  touching  his  own  con 
tact  with  the  law-makers  as  a  girl  of  her  years 
would  not  be  interested  in.  As  the  train  whirled 
by  he  pointed  out  to  her  Sir  William  Johnson's 
stone  mansion  near  Amsterdam,  and  told  her  how 
the  lordly  owner  of  it  had  made  war  with  the  help 
of  the  Indians  on  the  thrifty  colonists  who  after 
ward  won  their  independence  and  made  the  Fourth 
of  July  a  national  holiday.  On  the  way  down  the 
Hudson  there  was  an  endless  number  of  things  to 


THE  GILDED  CROSS.  47 

talk  about.  The  river  reminded  Dunbar  of  the 
Mississippi,  and  of  the  life  which  coursed  up  and 
down  its  broad  bosom  the  father  had  much  to  tell. 
Bits  of  history,  too,  flashed  to  his  mind  as  the  train 
sped  onward,  and  he  embellished  them  as  he  only 
could.  Through  the  deepening  dusk  under  the 
frowning  peaks  of  the  distant  Catskills  Grace  peered 
across  the  river  toward  Newburg,  where  Dunbar 
told  her  George  Washington  had  quartered  his 
forces,  and  the  girl  dozed  off  into  sleep  as  she 
listened,  and  then  dreamed  of  an  encamped  army 
whose  spectral  forms  she  had  seemed  to  see  as  she 
looked  through  blinking  eyes  into  the  gathering 
mists  above  the  great  river.  She  had  been  wonder 
ing  all  day  long  how  her  father  had  found  time  to 
store  his  memory  with  so  much  knowledge.  It  was 
unaccountable  to  her,  and  she  thought  of  her  father 
as  a  very  wise,  a  very  learned  man.  She  felt  that 
her  vision  of  the  world  had  been  vastly  widened. 

Dunbar  knew  New  York  fairly  well.  As  he  and 
Grace  walked  to  the  Brooklyn  ferry  he  told  her  all 
he  knew  of  the  streets  and  places  they  passed. 
Grace's  wide-open  eyes  were  a  quick-acting  camera 
this  morning.  She  saw  everything  in  sight. 

A  horse  car  went  within  a  block  of  the  Convent 
of  St.  Mary's,  and  that  means  of  easing  the  journey 


48  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

was  made  of  avail  by  Dunbar.  The  way  over  had 
been  so  pleasurable  that  Grace  had  quite  forgotten 
she  was  on  the  point  of  separating  from  her  father. 
But  it  was  never  out  of  his  mind.  He  was  intent 
upon  this  very  trial  of  his  life  when  the  conductor 
of  the  car  called  the  street  and  motioned  him  off 
the  car. 

"This  must  be  the  nunnery,"  Dunbar  said  ab 
stractedly  as  he  stood  on  the  curb  in  front  of  a 
two-story  brick  building  situated  in  a  green  plot 
some  distance  back  from  the  street.  A  high  picket 
fence  enclosed  the  grounds,  and  through  the  gate 
in  this  Dunbar  and  Grace  made  their  way.* 

"  Yes,  I've  called  the  turn,"  Dunbar  added  as 
he  caught  sight  of  a  gilded  cross  lifting  above  the 
highest  point  on  the  roof  of  the  building.  "  Father 
O'Horan  said  it  would  have  a  sign  out." 

"  What  did  you  say,  papa  ? "  Grace  said,  not 
shocked,  but  puzzled  to  know  what  Dunbar  meant. 

"The  cross,  the  cross,"  her  father  replied,  point 
ing  up. 

They  were  now  inside  the  convent  grounds. 
"  You'll  have  to  do  some  of  the  talkin',"  said  Dun- 
bar  to  his  daughter,  as  they  neared  the  doorway 
which  was  now  in  view  at  the  top  of  a  half  dozen 
steps,  at  the  end  of  the  gravelled  walk.  "  You 


THE  GILDED  CROSS.  49 

know,  sis,  I'm  a  poor  hand  at  talkin'  to  women 
folks — sisters  they  call  'em,  I  guess.  I'll  give  'em 
my  letter  from  Father  O'Horan  and  then  take  to 
the  woods." 

"  Take  what  ?  "  said  the  girl. 

The  two  stood  at  this  moment  within  the  narrow 
vestibule,  and  Dunbar  had  his  hand  on  the  bell-pull. 
He  made  no  reply  to  the  last  question,  but  drop 
ping  his  hand  from  the  knob,  patted  Grace  on  the 
back,  and  said : 

"  Leetle  girl,  the  whirligig  of  time  is  goin'  round, 
and  we  have  come  to  a  jumpin'  off  place.  I  want 
to  be  good  to  my  leetle  daughter,  and  she  mustn't 
forget  her  rough  old  daddy.  Say,  sis,  if  you  don't 
like  this  place,  and  they  don't  treat  you  right,  you 
write  and  let  me  know,  and  you  bet  your  boots  I'll 
snake  you  out  in  a  jiffy.  It's  all  for  you,  sis,  and 
anythin'  you  want  you  can  have." 

This  was  said  with  more  feeling  than  had  ever 
before,  according  to  Grace's  notion,  been  put  into 
her  father's  professions  of  affection  or  interest  in 
her.  She  never  felt  herself  to  be  as  dear  to  him  as 
then.  Without  knowing  just  why,  she  let  the  tears 
trickle  down  her  cheeks. 

Dunbar  did  not  look  at  her — indeed  kept  his  face 
turned  away.  With  a  sudden  movement  he  jerked 
the  bell-pull. 


50  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

"  It's  a  nice  lookin'  place  anyway,"  he  remarked 
while  they  waited  for  an  answer  at  the  door.  But 
he  never  put  his  eyes  on  the  girl. 

They  were  admitted  without  delay  by  a  sweet- 
faced  member  of  the  sisterhood  in  the  dress  of  their 
order.  Without  a  word,  once  inside,  Dunbar 
handed  the  sister  Father  O'Horan's  letter.  She 
read  the  superscription,  and  after  inviting  them  to 
be  seated  in  a  room  off  the  main  hall,  said  she 
would  deliver  the  letter  to  the  Mother  Superior.  It 
was  so  still  that  even  the  gentle  rustle  of  the  sister's 
dress,  as  she  went  softly  down  the  hall,  made  an 
echo.  Not  a  word  was  spoken  by  either  father  or 
daughter. 

The  Mother  Superior  appeared  after  a  short 
space.  A  kindly  face  shone  out  from  under  her 
hood.  She  looked  so  much  like  what  an  ideal 
mother  should  look  like  that  Dunbar's  suggestion 
that  his  daughter  might  not  be  well-treated  beneath 
that  roof  instantly  struck  him  as  a  vile  implication. 

"  I  can  tell  you  when  I  get  to  Heaven  by  the 
people  I  meet,"  he  said  afterward  in  recounting  his 
experience  at  the  convent  to  the  former  guardian  of 
Grace. 

"  Mr.  Dunbar?"  said  the  Mother  Superior,  with 
out  any  ceremony.  "  And  this  is  your  daughter. 
I  am  glad  to  see  you,  child." 


THE  GILDED  CROSS.  51 

Grace  seemed  to  feel  the  gracious  influence  of  the 
woman,  and  though  not  exactly  invited  to  be  so 
formal,  by  any  sign  of  the  Mother  Superior,  went 
forward  with  her  hand  extended.  The  good  sister 
stooped  and  kissed  Grace  on  the  forehead. 

"  Father  O'Horan  tells  me,"  the  Mother  Superior 
said,  "that  you  contemplate  leaving  your  daughter 
here  permanently.  Is  that  your  plan,  Mr.  Dunbar  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mum." 

"And  the  child — she  understands  it?  Under 
stands  this  is  to  be  home  for  her  for  some  time 
to  come  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mum.  But  I  want  to  say  right  here,  mum, 
that  if  she  don't  like  it  I'll  want  to  take  her  back." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  replied  the  Mother  Su 
perior.  "  We  would  prefer  to  have  it  so — much 
prefer  it,  Mr.  Dunbar.  But  I  think  we  can  make 
your  daughter  happy." 

"  Nuthin's  too  good  for  her,  mum,  and  whatever 
she  wants  she's  to  have — no  matter  what  it  costs," 
Dunbar  said  with  considerable  emphasis. 

"  Perhaps  we  had  better  not  put  it  exactly  that 
way,  Mr.  Dunbar.  It  might  not  prove  just  what 
you  desired  to  have  her  too  liberally  indulged — 
that  is  not  our  method — but  I  am  sure  she  will  be 
contented.  This  is  a  very  happy  household,  and 


52  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

though  most  of  our  girls  return  to  their  homes  at 
stated  intervals,  enough  remain  so  that  she  will 
not  get  lonely.  Might  I  suggest  that  you  come  to 
see  her  whenever  you  can  conveniently  ?  She  has 
no  mother  to  look  after  her,  the  letter  says?" 

D unbar  avoided  an  answer  to  this  question,  but 
went  on  to  say  : 

"  O,  I'll  come  fast  'nough,  mum,  and  thank  you 
for  askin'  me.  Sis  is  as  good  as  they  make  'em,  and 
I  wouldn't  hurt  her  feelin's  for  all  the  money  in  the 
mint." 

"  Now  as  to  her  lessons,  Mr.  Dunbar,"  the  Mother 
Superior  continued,  "  shall  you  provide  for  music 
and  the  other  special  studies  ?  " 

"The  hull  business,"  Dunbar  put  in,  "the  hull 
business.  I  want  sis  to  go  the  limit.  I  don't  care 
a  sou  markee  what  it  costs.  Give  her  the  best 
room  in  the  house  and  send  me  the  bill." 

"I  think  I  understand  your  wishes,  Mr.  Dunbar, 
and  will  be  guided  by  them — within  the  rules  of  the 
convent,  of  course." 

"  Thank  you,  mum." 

"  Mr.  Dunbar,"  said  the  Mother  Superior,  "  may  I 
ask  if  you  are  of  our  church — a  Catholic  ?  Father 
O'Horan  does  not  mention  this." 

"  No,  I  can't  say  as  I  am,  mum,"  Dunbar  replied. 


THE  GILDED  CROSS.  53 

"  I'm  a  leetle  shy  on  re-ligion,  mum,  but  I  guess 
what's  good  'nough  for  you's  good  enough  for  sis. 
Eh,  sis  ?  " 

"  I've  been  to  the  Catholic  church,"  Grace  said. 
"  I  went  to  a  wedding  with  auntie  once.  Father 
O'Horan  was  there." 

"A  fine  man,"  said  Dunbar.  "Do  you  know 
him,  mum  ?" 

"  No,"  rejoined  the  Mother  Superior,  "  but  I 
know  of  him,  and  know  how  well  he  is  thought  of." 

"  A  fine  man,"  Dunbar  continued.  "  He's  got 
sportin'  blood  in  his  veins,  mum,  he  has.  Only 
the  other  day  he  caught  a  chap  robbin'  the  poor 
box — that's  what  they  call  it  ain't  it  ? — and  threw 
him  half  way  to  the  canal.  Most  of  them  parsons 
are  psalm-singin'  dunderheads,  but  he's  true  blue, 
he  is." 

The  Mother  Superior's  raised  eyebrows  showed 
that  she  was  not  wholly  displeased  with  this  proof 
that  in  Salina  the  defenders  of  the  faith  were  of  the 
church  militant.  She,  however,  broke  into  the 
drift  of  these  comments  with  the  question: 

"You  admire  Father  O'Horan  so  much,  Mr. 
Dunbar,  I  should  think  you  would  go  to  him  for 
spiritual  consolation.  Or  are  you  afraid  of  being 
made  a  Catholic  ?  " 


54  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

"Afraid  of  nuthin',  mum,  I  jest  flee  from  the 
wrath  to  come.  You'll  have  to  let  me  out  on  the 
church  question,  if  that's  what  you  mean.  I  don't 
know  the  doxolo-gy  from  a  banjo  solo.  If  it  comes 
to  that  the  only  re-ligious  thing  I  can  do  is  to  take 
up  a  col-lection.  I  know  they're  savin'  souls  when 
they  pass  the  mission-ary  box,  and  then  I  drop  in  a 
dime  or  two,  just  for  luck.  No,  mum,  I'm  a  rough 
old  sinner,  I  guess,  and  will  have  to  pass." 

The  Mother  Superior's  only  reply  to  this  exposi 
tion  of  Dunbar's  creed  was  to  say,  as  she  folded 
Grace  close  in  her  arms  : 

"  Your  religion,  Mr.  Dunbar,  is  evidently  not  in 
your  professions,  but  in  your  deeds.  I  shall  not 
attempt  to  convert  you." 

"  Papa  is  a  good  man,"  Grace  here  put  in,  as  if 
she  had  gathered  from  the  conversation  that  her 
father  was  losing  ground  in  the  estimation  of  the 
Mother  Superior. 

"  Yes,  child,  and  so  good,  he  ought  to  be  a  good 
Catholic." 

"  You  can't  make  a  whistle  out  of  a  sow's  tail," 
Dunbar  said.  "  But  if  you  learn  sis  there  how  to 
pray  for  her  daddy  I  won't  say  a  word.  And  you 
won't  find  Lewis  Dunbar  slow  in  antein'  for  the 
heathen.  Hear  me  !  " 


THE  GILDED  CROSS.  55 

"  We  will  try  to  teach  her  to  love  God  and  revere 
her  father,  and  that  is  the  foundation  of  all  religion," 
said  the  Mother  Superior. 

"  'Nough  said,"  Dunbar  replied.     "  I  stand  pat." 

In  this  way,  then,  was  the  future  of  Grace  settled. 
When  it  came  to  a  leave-taking,  both  father  and 
child  made  manifest  the  depth  of  their  grief, 
though  Dunbar  hurried  the  painful  scene  as  effectu 
ally  as  he  knew  how.  The  good  sister  smoothed 
the  rougher  places  by  gracious  words  of  cheer, 
which  had  the  effect  of  sending  Dunbar  out  into 
the  street  with  a  lighter  heart  than  he  had  hoped 
to  carry  from  the  convent. 

When  Dunbar  reached  the  sidewalk,  and  looked 
back  at  the  convent  walls,  his  gaze  rested  for  more 
than  a  moment  on  the  gilded  cross  which  glim 
mered  in  the  sun  above  him.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life  he  knew  what  was  signified  by  the  form  in 
which  the  crown  jewels  were  set. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MEMORIES. 

DUNBAR  cocked  his  feet  on  the  sill  of  a  front  win 
dow  of  the  Astor  House  an  hour  later  and  stared 
into  the  hurly-burly  of  the  busiest  street  in  the 
world.  He  took  dinner  as  a  matter  of  form  ;  was 
so  abstracted  that  the  waiter  who  came  for  his 
order  thought  he  was  nonplussed  by  the  variety  of 
the  bill-of-fare,  and  obsequiously  offered  to  assist 
him  by  bringing  him  the  best  in  the  house.  Noth 
ing  short  of  this  aspersion  upon  his  epicurean  skill 
would  have  aroused  him  at  this  juncture.  If  he  did 
not  take  pleasure  in  eating  what  came  he  did  in 
ordering  it,  to  the  great  amazement  of  the  waiter, 
who  expressed  his  wonder  to  a  fellow  servitor  how 
"  that  Jerseyman  " — everything  odd  in  New  York 
was  said  to  be  of  Jersey  origin, — learned  so  much 
about  what  was  good  to  eat. 

"  See  him,"  said  the  waiter ;  "  he  eats  nothing  but 
the  hearts  of  the  celery,  and  when  I  brought  him  the 
burgundy  he  ordered  he  said  it  was  chilled,  and 


MEMORIES.  57 

said  he  wanted  it  off  the  chimney  piece.  He 
knows  what  he's  about." 

Dunbar  had  intended  to  be  back  in  Salina  the 
following  day,  but  it  was  not  until  three  days  later 
that  he  returned.  Even  to  himself  he  did  not  want 
to  admit  that  he  was  delaying  his  departure  because 
he  could  not  readily  bring  himself  to  increase  the 
distance  between  himself  and  the  little  girl  he  had 
left  at  the  Convent  of  St.  Mary's  ;  but  it  is  true, 
nevertheless,  that  he  crossed  the  river  twice,  and 
once  in  a  storm  of  cold  rain,  just  to  have  another 
look  at  the  gilded  cross,  which  in  a  vague  way  he 
had  begun  to  associate  with  Grace's  life. 

It  was  fully  a  week  after  his  return  to  his  accus 
tomed  place  in  his  eating-house  in  Salina  before 
Dunbar  was  approachable  to  his  friends.  They 
chaffed  him  a  trifle,  now  and  then,  about  his  down- 
heartedness,  only  to  be  sorry  for  it,  as  it  was  all  too 
plain  he  was  out  of  sorts.  Only  those  who  knew 
the  man  least  trespassed  on  his  period  of  dejection. 

"  Jordan's  a  hard  road  to  travel,"  he  said  to  one 
of  the  inquirers  who  ventured  to  ask  him  what  was 
ailing  him. 

"  The  old  man  is  himself  again,"  Conductor  Ash 
ley  remarked  to  a  knot  of  the  good  fellows  of  the 
town,  whom  he  ran  across  in  the  street  and  who 


58  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

were  speaking  of  Dunbar's  low  spirits  since  he  went 
to  New  York.  "  Don't  quiz  him  about  it,  but  he 
had  a  letter  from  his  little  girl  to-day,  and  she's 
having  a  nice  time  and  likes  the  convent.  That's 
all  Lew  wants  to  know." 

The  evening  session  at  the  eating-house  verified 
Ashley's  conjecture.  Dunbar  was  up  to  concert 
pitch. 

"  You  haven't  told  us  what  you  saw  in  New  York, 
Lew,"  Whitaker  said  after  the  group  was  formed. 

"There's  a  good  deal  of  air  to  the  square  inch 
down  there,"  Dunbar  replied.  "  The  con-stables 
wear  uniforms  and  New  York  time  is  made  for 
slaves.  Talk  about  warm  meals  at  all  hours,  they 
get  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night  to  stay  the  pangs 
of  hunger  down  there.  Funny,  too,  I  took  a  walk 
for  my  failin'  health  in  the  Bowery,  and  when  I 
was  goin'  up  everybody  was  comin'  down  the 
street.  When  I  came  to  right  about  face,  and  hied 
me  to  my  humble  home  at  the  Astor  House,  every 
body  was  goin'  up." 

"  So  you  put  up  at  the  Astor,  did  you,  Lew  ? 
Everything  suit  you  ?  " 

"  Down  to  the  ground  !  It's  the  greatest  she-bang 
this  side  the  Milky  Way.  And  you  can  believe  me, 
for  I've  travelled.  The  Astor  ro-tunda's  like  a  mile 


MEMORIES.  59 

track.  Nuthin'  but  purple  and  fine  linen  about  the 
inn." 

"  And  they  gave  you  the  bridal  chamber,  I  sup 
pose  ?  "  said  Ashley. 

'  They  received  me  with  open  arms.  Entertain 
ment  for  man  and  beast,  you  know." 

"  How's  the  feed,  Lew  ?  " 

"As  fine  as  silk.  Everything  cooked  to  the 
Queen's  taste  and  an  inducement  in  every  plate  to 
ask  for  a  second  helpin'.  New  York  gets  the  top 
dressin',  I  guess,  and  we  hayseeds  take  the  leavin's." 

"Get  him  to  tell  you  about  his  dice  game  on  the 
way  down,"  whispered  Ashley  to  one  of  the  others. 
"  It  was  a  sight  for  sore  eyes  to  see  him  beat  the 
fellow  at  his  own  game." 

"Any  excitement  in  your  travels,  Lewis?  Any 
one  want  to  win  your  money  ?  "  Whitaker  asked  in 
response  to  the  conductor's  hint. 

"  Whoopee,  yes !  There  was  a  light-fingered 
gent  with  a  sweat-board  and  three  shin-bones  who 
thought  he  knew  the  game,  wasn't  there,  Stephen  ? 
You  had  a  squint  at  the  proceedin's  when  they 
were  at  white  heat.  Did  I  scorch  the  chap's  fin 
gers,  or  didn't  I  ?  " 

"  You  raised  a  blister  I  should  say,"  was  Ashley's 
reply.  "  Tell  the  boys  about  it,  Lew  ;  it's  too  good 
to  keep." 


60  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

Whereupon  Dunbar  narrated  with  keen  relish  his 
encounter  with  the  travelling  gambler,  illustrating 
the  story  as  he  proceeded  with  the  self-same  dice, 
"trained  to  come  up  treys." 

"  I  always  have  them  con-cealed  about  my  per 
son,"  Dunbar  said.  "  Pretty  little  things,  you  can 
never  tell  what  a  day'll  bring  forth.  I  picked  'em 
up  in  Cairo,  Illinois,  away  back  in  the  fifties  when 
your  Uncle  Lew  was  gypsyin'  around  the  country. 
I  got  tangled  up  with  a  hanky-panky  game  in  which 
a  gent  was  employin'  'em,  but  he  left  in  such  a 
hurry  he  forgot  to  take  his  tools — so  I  froze  to  'em, 
and  have  carried  'em  for  good  luck  since.  Great 
times,  them  old  times." 

It  took  only  half  an  eye  to  discern  that  Dunbar 
was  ruminating,  and  that  if  properly  baited  he 
might  be  induced  to  go  over  for  the  edification  of 
his  friends  some  part  of  his  experience  as  a  Miss 
issippi  tourist.  His  head  was  bent  over  to  one 
side  so  as  to  throw  his  eyes  straight  to  the  ceiling. 
A  smile,  not  as  wide  as  a  barn  door,  but  a  smile 
nevertheless,  was  squeezing  out  between  the  tightly 
closed  lips,  in  which  a  lighted  cigar  was  serving  as 
an  entering  wedge.  He  had  thrust  his  thumbs  into 
the  arm-holes  of  his  rather  gorgeous  waistcoat, 
and  was  waiting  for  the  spirit  of  reminiscence 


MEMORIES.  61 

to  move  him.  If  the  top  of  his  head  could  have 
been  removed,  to  show  the  pictures  in  his  mind, 
what  he  had  to  say  would  have  had  scenic  embellish 
ment  as  well  as  picturesque  word-painting  to  make 
it  entertaining.  He  was  back  on  the  big  river 
again.  The  Natchez  Belle  was  ploughing  through 
the  blackness  of  a  summer  night,  the  splash, 
splash,  splash  of  the  paddle-wheel  seeming  to  time 
itself  to  the  song  the  roustabouts  were  singing  on 
the  forward  deck.  There  was  a  phantasmagoria  of 
gloom-enshrouded  shores,  now  receding,  now  com 
ing  sharply  within  hailing  distance,  as  the  boat 
swung  back  and  forth  to  the  line  of  the  channel, 
visible  only  in  the  reddish  glare  of  the  gusty  flame 
which  intermittently  rose  above  the  twin  stacks. 
In  Dunbar*s  ears  rang  the  monotonous  cry  of  the 
man  ahead  taking  soundings  and  calling  them  "  By 
the  mark."  This  time  Dunbar  did  not  have  to  stir 
from  beside  his  own  fireside  to  see  a  swarm  of 
dusky  figures,  barefooted  and  bareheaded,  sprawl 
ing  in  various  stages  of  somnolent  contortion  on 
the  cotton  bales  and  boxes  loading  the  steamer  to 
the  water's  edge.  As  mentally  vivid  was  the 
aspect  of  the  cabins  above  deck,  ablaze  with  rows 
of  swinging  lamps  wrought  in  gilded  metal,  steadied 
in  their  motions  by  heavy  strands  of  corded  silk 


62  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

from  which  depended  great  tassels;  and  in  their 
glare  a  merry  throng  trying  to  speed  the  hours  to 
bed-time.  Dunbar  was  calling  by  name  scores  of 
men  of  commanding  appearance,  or  no  appearance 
at  all,  whose  identity  as  passengers  on  Mississippi 
boats  never  passed  unnoticed.  In  this  vision  of 
his,  passing  through  his  mind  almost  while  he 
winked,  he  saw  the  scene  shift  from  dreamy  nights 
when  lovers  haunted  the  shadowed  nooks  and  all 
was  still,  to  nights  when  blood  was  flowing  while 
untamed  men  arbitrated  their  differences  at  the 
point  of  the  unsheathed  bowie  ;  he  saw  thousands 
lost  and  won,  saw  honour  set  under  foot  and  dismay 
light  the  way  to  the  suicide's  death  in  the  black 
river ;  he  saw  glorious  womanhood  at  its  worst  and 
at  its  best — here  admired,  courted,  majestic  in  its 
loveliness ;  there,  no  less  lovely  in  outward  sem 
blance,  preying  and  preyed  upon. 

And  the  splash,  splash,  splash  of  the  paddle- 
wheel  kept  time  to  the  plantation  melody. 

"  Salina  !  Ten  minutes  for  refreshments,"  cried 
Ashley,  and  Dunbar's  wool-gathering  came  to  an 
end. 

"  I  was  far  away  on  the  billow,"  he  said  by  way 
of  an  apology,  knocking  the  ashes  off  his  cigar 
with  a  flirt  of  the  little  finger  of  the  right  hand. 


MEMORIES.  63 

"  It's  a  great  old  river,  though,  and  I  want  you  to 
hear  me." 

"  Exactly,"  put  in  Whitaker,  "  we  want  to  hear 
you.  Big  games  on  the  Mississippi,  I  suppose." 

"  As  big  as  a  meetin'  house,"  Dunbar  said. 
"  Say,  they  don't  know  the  meanin'  of  a  turn  of  a 
card  in  this  neck  of  woods.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  of 
my  big  run  of  luck  on  the  Natchez  Belle?  Seven 
thousand  minted  dollars  stamped  by  Uncle  Sam  at 
Washington  !  Whoopee  !  All  raked  in  at  one  sittin' 
and  that  the  last  night  before  we  got  to  New 
Orleans.  Well,  it's  all  true,  true  as  gospel." 

Everybody  present  drew  up  a  little  closer. 

"  I'd  been  down  on  my  luck  that  trip  till  we 
reached  Memphis,  where  my  good  angel  got  on 
board  in  the  shape  of  a  planter  who'd  just  turned  a 
cargo  of  cotton  into  the  coin  of  the  realm.  Col. 
Claiborne  was  his  cog-no-men.  Ever  been  in  Dixie  ? 
You're  small  potatoes  and  few  to  the  hill  down 
South  unless  you're  a  Claiborne  or  next  of  kin. 
The  Colonel  was  full  of  pluck  and  plunder  and 
couldn't  wait  to  get  his  feet  under  the  poker  table. 
What  a  session  it  was  !  I'd  never  had  the  pleasure 
of  the  Colonel's  acquaintance  up  to  that  stage  of 
the  game,  but  we  cottoned  to  each  other  right  off, 
and  before  we  got  through  had  the  whole  cabin  to 


64  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

ourselves,  so  far's  sport  was  con-cerned.  The 
Colonel  knew  the  value  of  a  hand,  you  can  better 
believe,  and  you  want  to  hear  me,  boys — when  your 
Uncle  Lew  had  his  wits  about  him  he  was  no  babe 
in  arms  at  the  quiet  game  of  draw.  My  rabbit's 
foot  steered  me  safely  'mong  the  breakers  from 
the  start.  Claiborne  was  a  high-steppin'  fellow 
with  a  wicked  eye  I  had  my  doubts  about.  But  he 
stuck  it  out,  and  when  all  was  said  and  done  I  got 
my  verdict." 

"Your  verdict?"  said  a  listener  in  an  inquiring 
tone. 

"  Yea,  yea — the  seven  thousand.  The  Colonel 
said  I  had  cleaned  him  out,  and  though  he  was 
mighty  po-lite,  I  had  a  ticklish  feelin'  in  my  back 
bone  when  I  looked  into  his  bright  blue  eye.  Well, 
we  made  our  landin'  at  New  Orleans,  and  parted, 
he  with  an  '  I'll  see  you  agin,  my  friend  '  that  I 
didn't  half  like.  Easy  come  easy  go,  you  know,  and 
while  I  was  with  the  New  Orleanists  I  tried  to  do 
as  the  New  Orleanists  done.  A  great  place  for  high 
jinks  that !  It  come  Sunday,  which  you  may  not 
know  Is  the  gala  day  of  the  seven.  After  the 
shades  of  night  had  fallen,  I  hied  me  to  one  of  their 
masquerades,  an  octoroon  ball.  I  was  just  goin'  in 
when  who  should  I  run  afoul  of  but  my  old  friend 


MEMORIES.  65 

Col.  Claiborne.  He  seemed  powerful  glad  to  see 
me,  and  after  showin'  that  he  was  still  a  member  of 
the  bar  in  good  standin',  asked  me  in  a  sweet  pur- 
suasive  way  to  take  a  walk  around  the  block,  as  he 
had  suthin'  very  par-ticular  to  '  say  to  me.  I  felt 
like  obligin'  him,  and  out  we  went,  into  the  black 
night.  At  the  first  turn  he  ran  me  into  an  alley,  as 
dark  as  a  pocket,  where  I  couldn't  see  my  hand  be 
fore  my  face. 

'  Whoopee  ! '  I  says,  as  we  penetrated  further 
than  I  wanted  into  the  alley.  '  Get  out  o'  the 
wilderness.  Let's  go  where  we  can  see  the  cards 
when  they're  dealt.' 

"  '  Dunbar,'  said  Claiborne,  as  he  caught  me  by  the 
arm,  and  by  the  flicker  of  a  street  lamp  at  the  far 
corner  I  could  see  his  wicked  eye,  'luck  has  been 
dead  agin  me  comin'  down  the  river,  by  Gad, 
sah.' 

"  '  Yes,  the  golden  bowl  was  broken  at  the  well,' 
I  says  as  I  felt  an  icicle  fall  down  my  backbone. 

"  'You've  got  to  help  me,'  says  the  Colonel. 

" '  Fix  the  limit,'  was  all  I  could  say  with  my 
mouthful  of  heart. 

"  Then  what  does  he  do  but  he  reaches  back  in 
the  deep  re-cesses  of  his  coat  collar  and  fetches  up 
from  under  its  folds  a  loner  knife  with  a  blade  keen 


66  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

enough  to  cut  soaked  tissue  paper.  It  was  a  bowie  •, 
you  reckon  I  knew  the  brand. 

"  '  Let  me  have  five  dollars  on  this,  will  you, 
D unbar?  I  want  to  go  to  the  ball  to-night,'  says 
he. 

"  I  thought  I  saw  kingdom  comin'  as  the  steel 
flashed  in  the  lamp  light. 

"  '  Put  up  your  scythe,'  says  I,  '  I  don't  want  any 
col-lateral.  Take  ten  ;  you  may  want  to  go  to- 
morrer  night.' 

"Then  I  shelled  out  the  coin,  and  seein'  the  dag 
ger  safely  disposed  in  its  place  of  deposit  down  his 
neck,  went  back  for  a  night  of  pleasure." 

"  A  narrow  escape,"  suggested  Whitaker  as  Dun- 
bar  pushed  his  chair  back  and  began  again  the  pro 
cess  of  chewing  his  cigar. 

"  Pre-haps  not  !  "  was  Dunbar's  answer.  "  Any 
way  Claiborne  made  good  the  ten  before  I  left  New 
Orleans,  and  I  knew  him  to  be  a  chivalrous  Southern 
gentleman.  But  I've  often  wondered  what  would 
have  happened  if  I  hadn't  paid  down,  cash  on  the 
nail.  I've  jest  wondered  what." 

"  Was  that  the  nearest  you  ever  came,  Lew,  to 
being  slashed  with  a  bowie  knife?"  asked  Milt 
Rice,  who  had  joined  the  party  in  season  to  catch 
the  drift  of  the  narrative. 


MEMORIES.  67 

"  Not  much.  You  couldn't  travel  on  the  Missis 
sippi  without  becomin'  intimately  acquainted  with 
Mr.  Bowie's  hardware.  But  I  led  a  charmed  life 
and  always  took  leg  bail." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  any  one  killed  with  a  knife  ?  " 

"  One  or  two,  and  I've  been  sailin'  with  many 
of  'em  who  ought  to  have  been  killed.  And  they 
have  wished  the  same  of  me,  and  many  happy  re 
turns  of  the  day.  I  was  in  pretty  hot  company 
once  at  a  slave  sale  in  Louisiana.  If  I  wasn't  as 
tough  as  leather  my  heart'd  be  bleedin'  yet  at  the 
sight.  An  Algerine  pirate  native  to  the  soil  was 
tryin'  to  buy  a  slave  girl.  He  had  been  overseer 
fora  planter  who  was  bein'  sold  out  by  the  sheriff. 
The  girl  was  one  of  those  pancake-coloured  sirens 
who  break  up  families  in  the  South.  But  every 
time  the  overseer  raised  the  bid  on  her  she  shook 
as  if  he  had  hit  her  with  a  lash.  I  guess  I  must 
have  said  suthin'  aloud  that  sounded  like  an  Abo-lish 
speech,  for  as  quick  as  a  flash  the  auctioneer  let 
out : 

"'Why  don't  you  bid  on  the  gal?'  he  says. 
'  She  the  prettiest  yaller  gal  in  Louisiana.  Can  do 
anythin'  from  pickin'  cotton  to  mindin'  baby.'  ' 

"  Did  you  bid  ?  "  asked  Ashley. 

"  Like  a  mice.  She  was  tremblin'  in  the  balance 
at  $2,000  when  I  took  a  hand. 


68  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

" '  The  ante's  pretty  high,'  I  chipped  in,  '  but  if 
you're  goin'  to  sell  flesh  and  blood  by  the  pound 
like  beefsteak  I'll  invest  a  hundred  or  two  in  the 
black  Venus.  Make  it  $2,100,'  I  says. 

"  This  was  the  biggest  raise  they  had  had,  and  the 
overseer  walked  over  to  where  I  stood,  and  lookin' 
at  nuthin'  in  par-ticular,  much  less  your  Uncle 
Lew,  said  there  wasn't  money  enough  in  Louisiana 
to  stop  him  from  gettin'  the  gal.  Fool,  fool  that 
he  was,  I  had  him  there." 

"You  had  a  few  loose  dimes  yourself  I  judge," 
remarked  Whitaker,  patting  Dunbar  on  the  back  in 
admiration  of  his  staying  powers. 

"  I  was  loaded  for  bears  when  he  gave  me  a 
cue  to  his  game,"  Dunbar  went  on.  "You  see  I 
wouldn't  have  taken  the  gal  for  a  gift,  but  I  was 
bound  to  make  her  fetch  a  good  price.  I  took  in 
my  man  just  as  if  we  were  play  in'  a  poker  hand. 
At  one  hundred  dollars  a  lick  the  bids  went  up  to 
$5,000.  Then  I  plumped  a  raise  of  $500  straight  at 
the  cuss.  Whoopee  !  but  it  was  a  risk,  but  when 
he  came  back  at  me  with  a  bid  of  only  $5,600  I  felt 
safe.  Next  time  I  tried  his  soul  with  a  raise  to 
$5,800.  I  saw  him  goin'  deep  down  in  his  panta 
loons  as  if  fondlin'  his  roll,  and  brought  him  up 


MEMORIES.  69 

gaspin'  with  a  $100  bid.  Back  I  went  with  another 
hundred,  makin'  $5,900.  He  was  squirmin',  and 
dropped  to  a  $50  lift.  He  thought  the  gal  was 
slippin'  from  his  grasp.  Boys,  you  ought  to  have 
seen  that  child  of  nature  look  at  me.  She  was 
worth  lookin'  at,  too,  but  I  was  not  drawin'  to 
queens  that  trip.  My  friend  on  t'other  side  was 
gettin'  to  the  end  of  his  rope.  His  last  bid  of  fifty 
had  hung  fire  long  'nough  to  show  me  he  was 
about  at  the  bottom  of  his  pile.  But  my  dander 
was  up,  and  as  a  final  shot  I  saw  his  fifty  and  made 
it  fifty  better,  by  biddin'  $6,050.  I  wondered  what 
I  would  do  if  I  had  reached  the  top  notch  and 
should  get  the  human  chattel.'' 

"  You  were  just  big  on  bluffs  that  day,  eh,  Lew  ?  " 
was  Rice's  suggestion. 

"  It  was  root,  hog  or  die  with  me,  you  can  better 
believe.  I  waited  to  see  what  the  fellow'd  do,  and 
I  came  up  smilin',  when  he  rushed  up  to  the  auc 
tioneer's  block  and  threw  his  wallet  down  with  a 
bang.  'Seven  thousand  dollars  and  be  damned  to 
you,'  he  says.  '  If  you've  got  more  money  than 
that,  you'll  have  to  fight  me  for  the  gal,  by  Gad, 
sah,'  and  out  came  his  bowie. 

"  '  All  down,'  said  I.  '  Set  'em  up  on  the  other 
alley.'  " 


70  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

"And  the  Southerner  got  the  girl?"  inquired 
Ashley. 

"  Seven  thousand  dollars  out  and  nuthin'  but  a 
nigger  in,"  Dunbar  replied. 

"  But  you  said  she  was  good  looking,  Lew,  didn't 
you?"  Rice  asked. 

"  As  pretty  as  a  red  wagon." 

"  Weren't  you  sorry  to  let  her  go  ?  " 

"  O,  I  had  a  tear  to  shed,  but  I  was  not  prepared 
to  shed  it,  and  went  my  ways." 

"  How  did  the  girl  take  it  ?  "  asked  Whitaker. 

"  Never  looked.  I  never  liked  women  in  distress. 
But  that  was  years  ago,  boys.  If  it  was  all  to  be 
done  over  again  that  gal'd  been  saved  if  I'd  been 
forced  to  hock  the  crown  jewels  to  do  it." 

Three  or  four  other  questions  touching  the  sale 
of  the  slave  girl  were  asked  Dunbar  in  quick  suc 
cession,  but  to  them  he  did  not  deign  to  make  reply. 
He  was  thinking  of  another  girl,  every  moment 
of  whose  happiness  was  now  his  whole  concern. 
Strange,  thought  Dunbar,  that  he  had  just  measured 
his  passing  interest  in  a  slave  girl  by  the  value  of 
his  diamonds.  Again  the  gilded  cross  ! 

No  wonder  the  little  company  of  friends  broke 
up  and  went  away  that  night  puzzled  to  know  why 
Dunbar  suddenly  became  so  uncommunicative, 


CHAPTER  V. 

A   STRANGER   IN   TOWN. 

FATHER  O'HORAN  was  waiting  for  Dunbar  at 
the  eating-house  one  morning  when  he  came  in. 
The  priest  was  bound  for  New  York,  and  had 
called  to  say  that  if  Dunbar  wished  it  he  would 
make  it  a  point  to  ask  at  the  convent  in  Brooklyn 
after  Grace.  This  unsolicited  show  of  interest  in 
the  girl  caught  Dunbar  at  a  great  disadvantage, 
inasmuch  as  he  had  been  postponing  since  his  own 
return  from  New  York  the  duty  he  felt  he  owed  the 
priest  for  having  recommended  the  convent.  Dun- 
bar  had  not  even  called  on  Father  O'Horan  to 
thank  him  for  what  he  had  been  pleased  to  do,  and 
conscious  of  the  extent  of  his  remissness,  he  was 
too  abashed  to  do  anything  better  than  offer  a  very 
lame  apology. 

Father  O'Horan  was  one  of  the  conspicuous  men 
of  the  community,  too,  at  this  time.  His  life  in 
Salinahad  been  filled  with  good  deeds,  dating  as  far 
back  as  the  cholera  epidemic  in  which  his  ministra 
tions,  extending  beyond  the  realm  of  spiritual  effort, 


72  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

reached  to  actual  service  as  a  volunteer  nurse  in  the 
community's  dire  extremity.  He  had  himself  been 
stricken  with  the  dread  disease,  and  been  reported 
dead  of  it,  having  come  through  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death  a  prematurely  old  man.  It  was 
said  Father  O'Horan  was  known  by  sight  to  every 
grown  man  in  Salina,  and  if  that  was  not  true,  it 
must  have  been  true  of  the  children,  who  would 
stop  at  play  any  time  to  be  patted  on  the  head  by 
the  tall  man  in  black  with  a  crown  of  yellowish 
white  hair  falling  to  his  shoulders.  Had  Father 
O'Horan  cared  to  exercise  his  influence  in  that  way, 
he  might  have  controlled  more  than  one  political 
result,  but  despite  the  repeated  inducements  of 
party  managers  to  draft  him  into  service,  he  seemed 
content  to  mind  his  own  business,  which  was  the 
business  of  the  Lord. 

This  morning  Father  O'Horan  gave  a  little  sign 
of  his  kindness  of  heart  by  sitting  down  with  Dun- 
bar  to  sip  a  cup  of  coffee,  simply  that  his  host 
might  draw  from  this  acceptance  of  his  hospitality 
the  thought  that  Dunbar's  oversight  had  been  for 
given.  Dunbar  was  able  to  make  the  priest  under 
stand,  if  there  had  been  previous  doubt  of  the 
truth,  that  it  was  not  a  want  of  love  for  the  girl 
that  made  him  fail  in  courtesy.  Father  O'Horan 


A  STRANGER  IN  TOWN.  73 

was  overwhelmed  with  messages,  mostly  to  the 
Mother  Superior,  looking  to  the  happiness  of  Grace, 
that  proved  beyond  question  the  tenderness  of  the 
father's  affection  for  the  girl. 

"  I'm  not  jest  the  kind  of  a  father  you  read  about, 
am  I  ?  "  Dunbar  asked,  and  without  waiting  for  an 
answer  continued  :  "  But  I  jest  want  her,  when  she 
learns  to  know  beans  when  the  bag's  open,  not  to 
be  sorry  Lewis  Dunbar  tagged  her  with  his  name. 
D'ye  understand  ?  I  guess  the  less  she  sees  of  me 
the  better.  But  I  want  her  to  keep  on  inti-mate 
terms  with  my  bank  account." 

The  arrival  of  the  morning  train  for  New  York,  on 
which  Father  O'Horan  counted  on  taking  passage, 
brought  their  conversation  to  a  sudden  close. 
Dunbar  walked  across  the  alley  into  the  depot  with 
the  priest  and  helped  him  aboard  the  car. 

Once  the  priest  had  taken  his  place  in  the  car, 
Dunbar  sauntered  to  the  other  end  of  the  depot, 
taking  care  not  to  be  within  view  of  Father 
O'Horan  while  the  train  remained,  which  was  for 
some  twenty  or  thirty  minutes.  Yet  he  stood  by 
to  make  a  final  wave  of  his  hand  as  the  train  drew 
out  signify  his  gratitude  for  what  the  good  priest 
was  doing. 

To  Josh  Monk,  the  depot  vendor  of  oranges  and 


74  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

peanut  candy,  whom  Dunbar  engaged  in  conversa 
tion  in  the  interim,  he  confided  the  fact  that  he  was 
there  to  see  Father  O'Horan  off  to  New  York. 
Everybody  who  had  business  around  the  depot 
found  more  or  less  diversion  in  talking  with  Monk. 
So  it  was  no  condescension  on  Dunbar's  part  to  put 
in  his  time  in  that  way,  and  he  was  rather  proud  to 
let  it  be  known  that  he  was  on  friendly  terms  with 
the  popular  priest. 

"  You're  not  any  too  sociable  about  it,  Uncle," 
said  Monk,  wondering  why,  if  Dunbar  was  saying 
farewell  to  Father  O'Horan,  he  did  not  go  through 
the  customary  motions  outside  the  car  window. 

Monk  had  become  familiar  with  depot  etiquette 
by  long  observance  of  its  varying  phases,  exactly  as 
Dunbar  had.  The  point  was  that  they  differed  as  to 
the  binding  quality  of  the  usage.  Dunbar  thought 
there  was  nothing  more  essentially  droll  than  the 
partings  of  people  at  the  windows  of  railroad  cars. 
Monk  believed  that  that  interminable  period  be 
tween  the  embarkation  of  a  friend  and  the  last  view 
afforded  by  the  passing  train  should  be  held  sacred 
to  the  vocal  or  pantomimic  delivery  of  fond  fare 
wells. 

"  Them  'ere  Injuns,"  Monk  remarked  with  con 
siderable  acidity  of  manner  for  him — for  he  was  a 


A  STRANGER  IN  TOWN.  75 

good  soul — "  do  it  your  way.  They  stand  'round 
sayin'  nothin'  like  a  lot  o'  hitchin'  posts.  You 
ought  to  go  down  to  the  Reservation  and  make 
bead-work." 

This  was  an  illustrative  reference  to  the  quaint 
group  of  Onondagas,  bucks  and  squaws,  who  made 
the  depot  a  market  for  the  sale  of  fancifully  em 
broidered  knick-knacks  and  bows  and  arrows  wound 
with  coloured  worsted.  No  one  ever  accused  them 
of  being  demonstrative. 

"Say,"  said  Dunbar,  taking  up  his  end  of  the 
argument,  "  when  things  are  out  o'  kilter  with  me, 
do  you  know  what  I  do  ?  Well,  there's  nuthin' 
half  so  sweet  in  life  as  this  tearin'  the  human  heart 
into  shreds  to  the  soft  music  of  a  bullgine.  I  can 
lift  myself  out  of  the  slough  of  despair  watchin'  a 
couple  bunchin'  good-byes  at  a  car  window. 
There's  a  woman  at  it  now  ! " 

He  pointed  down  the  depot  toward  a  car  beside 
which  a  middle-aged  woman  had  taken  a  stand  to 
beckon  and  grimace  to  a  friend  inside.  "  Just  cast 
your  optics  on  her  and  see  if  it  wouldn't  make  a 
horse  laugh  himself  to  death.  Just  watch  her ! 
She  can't  hear  a  word  the  other  woman  inside  is 
sayin',  and  the  other  woman  can't  hear  her.  Talk- 
in'  ?  Of  course  she's  talkin'.  Dollars  to  doughnuts 


76  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

I  can  call  the  turn  on  what  she's  jabberin'  about. 
I'll  bet  Libbie's  the  name  of  the  woman  in  the  car. 
'  Libbie,'  she  says,  '  don't  forget  to  have  Mate  write 
to  me.'  Libbie  can't  hear  a  blessed  word,  so  she 
up  and  says :  '  I'll  try  not  to,  but  if  George  comes 
home  he'll  see  what  can  be  done  about  it?  Hope 
they  won't  spoil  before  he  comes.'  That's  what  the 
folks  in  the  car  hear  her  say.  I  might  have  known 
it.  The  old  gal  in  the  car  is  tryin'  to  raise  the 
window.  Look  out  or  you'll  bust  your  galluses. 
Of  course  it  won't  go  up.  Car  windows  never  do. 
Now  see  Mrs.  Dusenbury  out  there.  She  can't 
think  of  anythin'  to  say,  so  she  stares  up  and  down 
the  tracks,  and  wishes  with  all  her  might  the  blamed 
train  would  start.  Watch  'em,  I  say,  watch  'em. 
Both  smirkin'  at  one  another,  and  lookin'  as  foolish 
as  a  pair  of  suckin'  calves.  In  another  minute  Mrs. 
Dusenbury'll  wave  her  hand.  Yes,  she's  at  it  now. 
Talkin'  again.  Sayin'  she  hopes  the  old  gal  will 
find  the  children  all  well.  Of  course  she  hopes 
that,  and  before  they  came  down  to  the  depot  she 
said  it  fifty  times.  Now  the  old  gal  is  sayin'  suth- 
in',  and  the  friend  out  here  is  noddin' — see  her 
nod — as  if  she  knew  what  it  was ;  but  bless  your 
heart,  she  don't,  and  is  only  wonderin'  why  in  the 
name  of  heaven  the  train  don't  go.  Don't  tell  me 


A  STRANGER  IN  TOWN.  77 

that  ain't  the  funniest  thing  goin'.  The  great 
A-merican  traveller's  a  queer  fish,  and  no  mistake, 
and  when  the  great  A-merican  traveller's  a  female 
sayin'  good-bye  in  a  depot  you  want  to  stand  from 
under.  Now  see  her  lookin'  in  her  pocket-book  as 
if  she  didn't  know  to  a  hundredth  part  of  a  cent  all 
her  ready  cash.  Just  killin'  time!  What's  she  up 
to  now  ?  Yes,  another  trick  of  the  trade.  That's 
a  sample  of  calico  or  suthin'  she's  holdin'  up.  See 
the  old  gal  inside  smile  as  if  she  was  at  the  nigger 
minstrels.  I  tell  you  if  the  train  don't  start  soon 
Mrs.  Dusenbury  will  drop  in  a  fit.  She's  about 
tuckered  out  now.  All  right  !  She's  saved  !  " 

The  cry  of  "  All  aboard  ! "  ended  this  merciless 
commentary  on  human  weakness,  and  carried  Dun- 
bar  down  toward  the  center  of  the  depot,  where 
he  yielded  to  the  very  impulse  he  was  berating  long 
enough  to  salute  Father  O'Horan's  departure. 

"Say,  Monk,"  cried  Dunbar,  as  he  crossed  the 
alley  in  the  hearing  of  the  orange  vendor,  "  I  guess 
I'll  take  mine  out  in  bein'  an  Injun." 

It  happened  that  that  night  Dunbar  put  in  an  ap 
pearance  at  the  Salina  House,  which  more  than  any 
other  of  the  popular  places  of  resort  in  those  days 
served  the  purposes  of  a  club  in  the  estimation  of 
the  convivial  spirits  of  the  young  city.  The  Salina 


78  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

House  was  as  famous  as  any  hostelry  on  the  beaten 
path  between  the  East  and  West  of  that  day.  Its 
spacious  office,  up  a  broad  flight  of  steps  from  the 
main  street,  was  a  common  ground  where  the  best 
that  was  in  the  town  met  in  jovial  as  well  as  en 
lightening  companionship  every  evening  of  the 
week.  It  was  a  public  place,  to  be  sure,  but  tradi 
tion  had  decreed  that  to  enjoy  its  hospitality  the 
visitor's  name  must  either  appear  on  the  registry 
as  a  guest,  or  bring  to  the  assembled  company 
within  its  doors  something  like  standing  in  the 
community.  By  no  means  was  everybody  welcome. 
It  was  not  exactly  definable,  the  particular  personal 
attribute  by  virtue  of  which  citizens  of  Salina  were 
admitted  to  membership  of  this  unnamed  club,  but 
it  was  something  marked  enough  to  be  readily  rec 
ognised.  Lewis  Dunbar,  for  reasons  that  ought  by 
this  time  to  be  manifest,  was  of  the  blood  royal  in 
the  throng.  Indeed,  he  came  to  the  Salina  House 
too  rarely  to  satisfy  its  longing  for  the  felicity  of  his 
company. 

The  time  was  coming  when  the  Salina  House  was 
to  take  precedence  over  all  rivalry  as  a  place  around 
which  the  life  of  the  town  ebbed  and  flowed.  The 
hotel  was  now  being  lighted  by  gas  and  heated  by 
furnace,  and  in  the  genial  glow  of  both  these  ad- 


A  STRANGER  IN  TOWN.  79 

vantages  it  was  prospering  as  never  before.  There 
were  those  among  the  older  frequenters  of  the  hotel 
who  were  slow  to  accustom  themselves  to  the  inno 
vations.  They  counted  as  a  distinct  loss  to  their 
old  stamping  ground  the  removal  from  its  place  of 
the  great  stove,  almost  as  high  as  a  chimney,  with 
its  oval  base  of  corrugated  iron,  changing  from  cold 
grey  to  iridescent  red  as  the  coal  was  piled  on  of  a 
winter's  night.  Some  of  those  who  chafed  at  the 
march  of  improvement  toward  the  gas  jet  and  the 
noisy  registers  had  been  so  long  of  the  elect  at 
the  Salina  House  as  to  be  able  to  look  back  on  the 
time  when  they  toasted  their  shins  before  the  wood 
stove,  a  cumbersome  box  of  iron  on  four  legs,  giving 
off  every  moment  of  the  day  and  night  a  pungent 
odour  of  burning  maple.  These  were  the  ancient  and 
honourables  who  knew  that  under  the  same  roof 
there  had  been  a  period  when  nothing  but  open 
hearths,  holding  four-foot  logs,  welcomed  the  coming 
and  speeded  the  parting  guest.  It  seemed  to  them, 
and  to  some  others  as  well,  if  the  truth  be  known, 
that  human  nature  could  never  get  as  close  together 
as  around  a  grate  fire,  or  in  lieu  of  that,  a  superheated 
stove  elevated  above  the  floor  in  a  sand  box,  and 
enclosed  by  a  foot-rail  where  congenial  souls  touched 
one  another  at  their  extremities,  The  very  rattle 


8o  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

of  the  coals  as  it  was  being  put  on  by  the  porters 
jarred  the  nerves  of  some  of  these  and  made  them 
wish  modern  trespass  on  personal  comfort  would 
stop  short  at  the  doors  of  the  Salina  House.  But 
the  hotel  had  to  keep  pace  with  the  times,  people 
were  saying,  and  it  was  certainly  doing  it.  It  was 
an  establishment,  too,  where  everything  that  fasti 
dious  taste  demanded  for  the  satisfaction  of  the 
inner  man  could  be  promptly  supplied,  and  this  in 
itself  was  an  attraction  to  Dunbar,  who  boldly  de 
clared  he  did  not  want  eternally  to  take  his  own 
medicine. 

"  Here's  the  old  covey,  now,"  was  the  greeting 
Dunbar  received  when  he  opened  the  door  and 
stepped  in.  "  Uncle  Lew,  we  were  just  wondering 
what  had  become  of  you." 

"  It's  sweet  to  be  remembered,"  was  Dunbar's  re 
joinder,  "  because  I  may  quit  you.  I've  got  a  gin- 
mill  of  my  own  to  look  after  and  may  have  to 
forsake  these  scenes  of  pleasure." 

"  So  you  are  going  to  mix  liquids  with  your  solids 
to  cheer  the  traveller  on  his  way,"  remarked  Capt. 
Bower,  the  rubicund  boniface  of  the  hotel,  coming 
around  from  behind  the  semi-circular  desk.  "  I 
thought  you  would  add  selling  whiskey  to  the  rest 
of  your  crimes,  Lew,  before  you  were  hung," 


A  STRANGER  IN  TOWN.  81 

"  Well,  as  to  high  morals  I'm  no  great  shakes,  I 
know,  but  it  does  go  agin  my  grain  to  bring  my 
sufferin'  fellow  man  with  dishonour  to  the  grave  ; 
but  I'm  in  for  it,  for  sure.  But  the  eatin'-house 
is  still  a  temple  of  temperance.  If  you  would  fill 
the  flowin'  bowl  under  my  direction  you'll  have  to 
come  to  the  cave  under  Whitin's  Hall — down  the 
long  flight  to  per-dition." 

Dunbar  was  called  on  to  explain,  and  he  said  that 
in  order  to  save  himself  from  financial  loss,  through 
a  friend  to  whom  he  had  injudiciously  made  a  loan 
of  money,  he  had  been  obliged  that  day  to  take 
under  his  own  control  a  drinking  saloon  in  town 
which  had  not  enjoyed  the  best  of  reputations.  It 
struck  those  who  heard  Dunbar  tell  of  his  latest 
venture  that  he  was  in  a  way  trying  to  have  it 
appear  that  he  was  ashamed  to  be  in  the  business. 
This  was  something  everybody  could  not  under 
stand,  for  a  man  whose  versatile  endeavours  had 
touched  at  so  many  points  might  easily  have  gone 
behind  a  bar  without  danger  of  losing  prestige. 
It  was  not  then  so  apparent  as  it  was  later  that 
Dunbar  was  adjusting  his  life  to  the  higher  ideals 
he  conceived  would  be  to  the  liking  of  his  daughter. 
There  was  a  stigma  attached  to  saloon-keeping 
which  was  to  be  avoided  if  possible.  The  other 


82  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

horn  of  the  dilemma  was  to  sacrifice  his  investment 
in  the  unlucky  saloon,  and  this  he  felt  just  as  un 
willing  to  do,  since  with  every  loss  or  gain  he  now 
felt  Grace  was  connected. 

"  You  have  taken  a  pretty  hard  hole,  Uncle  Lewis, 
haven't  you  ?  "  asked  Ezra  Stuart,  one  of  the  regu 
lar  habitues  of  the  Salina  House,  "  haven't  you  be 
gun  low  down  ?  " 

"  Struck  the  gulch  at  last,"  was  Dunbar's  laconic 
answer. 

He  was  to  take  possession  of  the  place  the  fol 
lowing  day,  and  it  was  agreed  that  so  far  as  was 
consistent  with  the  comfort  of  his  friends  a  helping 
hand  should  be  stretched  out  to  him  in  his  distress. 
An  adjournment  to  the  hotel  bar,  where  Dunbar 
played  the  host,  bound  this  bargain. 

There  was  among  those  who  tested  Dunbar's 
choice  of  a  wine  from  the  cellars  of  the  Salina 
House  a  stranger  to  him  and  to  the  rest  of  the  guests. 
This  man  had  been  stopping  at  the  hotel  for  two 
or  three  days  without  becoming  known  or  attempt 
ing  to  force  his  company  upon  the  nightly  assem 
blies  of  good  fellows  whose  bantering  talk  enlivened 
the  scene  and  served  to  make  sojourn  at  the  Salina 
House  one  of  the  things  which  spread  its  fame 
abroad.  It  was  never  felt  by  those  who  came  to 


A  STRANGER  IN  TOWN.  83 

the  old  hotel,  and  paid  its  prices  for  entertainment 
— some  folks  thought  them  fancy  prices — that  the 
residents  of  Salina  who  frequented  its  public  rooms 
pre-empted  their  prerogatives.  They,  instead,  uni 
versally  expressed  satisfaction  in  the  relief  that  the 
evening  sessions  afforded  to  the  usual  dullness  of 
hotel  life. 

At  a  respectful  distance  Ephraim  Lull  had  been 
viewing  this  aspect  of  Salina,  and  he  was  alert  to 
show  his  pleasure  at  the  opportunity  offered  to  mingle 
a  little  closer  in  it.  Dunbar  had  invited  him  to  join 
the  party  in  a  libation  because  he  stood  with  his  el 
bows  on  the  desk,  an  apparently  casual  listener  to  the 
conversation  which  led  up  to  the  adjournment  to 
the  hotel  bar.  At  first,  when  motioned  by  Dunbar 
to  follow  the  procession,  Lull  demurred  with  a 
shake  of  the  head  that  signified  a  polite  declination 
of  the  courtesy,  and  he  was  only  induced  to  accept 
the  hospitality  when  Dunbar  plucked  him  by  the 
sleeve  and  said : 

"  Don't  be  backward  in  comin'  forward,  stranger. 
Sal-vation's  free  to  all.  An  unslaked  thirst  needs 
no  introduction.  Come  one,  come  all." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  cordiality  of  the  invi 
tation,  and  Lull,  laughingly  saying  he  was  never 
good  at  resisting  temptation,  dropped  in  behind 


84  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

the  rest.  One  or  two  others,  no  more  a  part  of  the 
company  than  Lull,  also  had  a  social  glass  with 
Dunbar  under  the  same  kind  pressure.  But  Lull 
alone  remained  in  the  circle  after  the  party  re 
turned  to  the  radiance  of  the  office ;  but  the  inter 
course  between  those  composing  it  was  so  informal, 
that  no  one  took  the  trouble  to  inquire  his  name 
and  he  found  no  favourable  opportunity  for  intro 
ducing  himself.  His  identity  was  revealed  in  due 
time,  however,  when  a  boy  approached  and  in 
quired  : 

"  Mr.  Lull,  do  you  want  warm  water  in  your 
room  to-night  ?  " 

Lull  bore  his  little  part  in  the  matching  of  wits 
which  filled  in  the  time  that  night.  It  did  not  fail 
of  comment  that  when  the  talk  turned  to  the  ques 
tion  of  horses,  he  pricked  up  his  ears  with  livelier 
interest  than  he  had  previously  shown.  The  hint 
thrown  out  that  when  it  came  to  passing  an  infalli 
ble  opinion  on  the  latest  nag  to  show  his  heels  on 
the  turnpike  Lewis  Dunbar  was  to  be  ranked  second 
not  even  to  Rysdyck,  instantly  caught  Lull's  notice. 
He  edged  over  to  Dunbar  and  asked  if  he  knew 
where  he  could  get  a  gentleman's  roadster  that  had 
speed  and  style.  This  was  enough.  Dunbar  and 
Lull  came  together  like  two  particles  of  quicksilver 
let  loose  on  a  china  plate. 


A  STRANGER  IN  TOWN.  85 

"  Say,  mister,"  said  Dunbar,  ''  if  you're  in  dead 
earnest  this  time,  and  really  want  suthin'  spick 
and  span  in  the  line  of  horse-flesh,  pre-haps  we 
could  manage  to  light  on  suthin'  for  you." 

"  Yes,"  was  the  interruption  from  the  circle,  "  per 
haps  Mr.  Dunbar  would  trade  his  pet  horse  for  a 
few  golden  eagles.  Eh,  Lew?" 

"  Lady  Montressor,  you  mean  ?  "  was  Dunbar's 
question.  "  Not  if  the  court  knows  itself,  and  it 
thinks  it  does." 

"  Is  she  a  horse  that  would  suit  my  purposes?  " 
Lull  inquired. 

"  Lady  Montressor  would  suit  the  purposes  of 
royalty,  I  tell  you.  She's  out  of  Lord  Derby's  yard 
by  the  old  blue  hen.  She's  comin'  fast,  and  before 
snow  flies'll  trot  in  two  nuthin'.  I  tell  you  when 
she's  let  out  the  people  on  the  road  cry  '  Murder  ! ' 
and  jump  the  fences.  The  man  that  owns  her  never 
owned  a  better." 

"Would  you  part  with  her,  Mr.  Dunbar?"  was 
Lull's  question.  The  answer  to  it  was  that  he  did 
not  care  for  money,  but  was  willing  to  oblige  a  friend, 
and  if  the  friend  was  as  careless  of  monetary  con 
siderations  as  himself,  they  might  come  to  terms  on 
a  pinch. 

It  followed,  therefore,  that  before  the  friends  sepa- 


86  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

rated  that  night  the  impression  was  general  that 
Lull's  business  in  Salina  was  to  look  for  a  chestnut 
mare  and  that  Dunbar  would  help  him  find  one. 

We  shall  see  whether  it  was  a  horse  of  another 
colour  which  brought  Lull  to  Salina. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  BOWER  OF  ROSES. 

DUNBAR  and  Lull  went  driving  the  next  day.  Dun- 
bar  devoted  the  early  morning  to  seeing  what  was 
to  be  done  with  his  saloon  property  under  Whiting's 
Hall  to  place  it  on  a  sound  basis,  or,  as  he  said,  in 
a  position  that  would  afford  him  something  better 
than  a  tail  hold.  It  was  evident,  Lull  thought, 
when  directed  from  the  eating-house  to  call  at  the 
saloon,  that  Dunbar  had  found  affairs  there  in  a  con 
dition  bordering  on  chaos,  although  nothing  was 
said  to  that  effect. 

"  I'm  goin'  to  dig  out  of  this  ditch  as  soon  as  I 
can,"  Dunbar  said.  "  I  like  to  do  business  in  higher 
latitudes,  where  the  sun  shines  bright  and  the  face 
of  man  is  to  be  seen  without  lamp-light.  I'm  no 
cave  dweller,  and  though  the  Bower  of  Roses — that's 
what  I'm  goin'  to  call  the  place — is  a  gold  mine, 
I'm  goin'  to  let  some  one  else  do  the  minin'.  You 
mightn't  be  the  man,  eh?  " 

Lull  promptly  reassured  Dunbar  that  his  inclina 
tions  did  not  run  in  that  direction ;  in  fact,  just  at 


88  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

present,  he  was  anxious  to  try  the  mettle  of  his 
friend's  horses.  It  was  therefore  arranged  they 
should  look  over  the  best  in  the  Dunbar  stable  early 
in  the  afternoon.  When  the  men  met  by  appoint 
ment  in  front  of  the  Salina  House  a  horse  and  con 
veyance  quite  in  line  with  the  fashion  of  the  day 
were  awaiting  their  use. 

Lull's  critical  notice  of  the  turn-out  pleased  Dun- 
bar  immensely.  He  forgot  he  had  a  white  elephant 
on  his  hands  in  the  form  of  the  Bower  of  Roses. 

"Lady  Montressor,  I  suppose? "  Lull  remarked 
as  he  looked  at  the  mare,  which  was  showing  every 
sign  of  ambition  to  be  off  on  the  road. 

"That,"  said  Dunbar,  "is  Lucretia  Borgia,  and 
I'm  not  ashamed  to  ask  a  judge  of  horses  to  get  up 
behind  her.  There's  nuthin'  better  on  four  feet. 
Look  her  over!  Not  a  wart  and  not  a  pimple. 
Sound  as  a  Mexican  dollar  in  wind  and  limb,  kind 
and  gentle,  velvet  to  the  touch  from  forehead  to 
fetlock,  will  stand  without  hitchin',  is  not  afraid  of 
the  cars,  a  lady  can  drive  her's  well  as  a  man,  and 
she's  as  free  from  tricks  as  a  lap  dog.  Man  a-live, 
when  there's  dust  flyin'  on  the  road,  you  don't  get 
a  smitch  of  it." 

"  Then  she  has  speed,  as  well  as  looks,  Mr.  Dun- 
bar?" 


THE  BOWER  OF  ROSES.  89 

"  Speed  ?  Hook  Lucretia  Borgia  in  light  harness, 
put  your  bull  pup  up  beside  you,  and  give  her  her 
head  on  the  Brewerton  plank  road,  and  she  goes  so 
fast  the  telegraph  poles  look  like  the  teeth  in  a  fine 
tooth  comb,  and  don't  you  forget  it.  Jump  in  and 
hold  your  breath." 

If  the  little  mare  failed  to  verify  the  good  opinion 
her  owner  entertained  of  her,  it  was  because  she 
was  not  urged  to  her  utmost,  for  after  Dunbar  had 
put  her  through  her  paces  two  or  three  times,  show 
ing  a  dexterity  in  handling  the  reins  that  did  not 
miss  Lull's  attention,  the  conversation  shifted  to 
other  themes  than  the  merits  of  horseflesh.  As 
quick  of  discernment  as  Dunbar  usually  was,  he  did 
not  discover  until  he  had  returned  Lull  to  the  Salina 
House,  that  the  afternoon  had  passed  without  bring 
ing  him  any  nearer  a  horse  trade  than  when  he 
started. 

"  I  know  what  you've  got  and  will  think  it  over," 
Lull  had  said  as  he  thanked  Dunbar  for  a  pleasant 
drive. 

"Wonder  what  his  lay  is?"  Dunbar  thought, 
when  later  he  took  account  of  the  afternoon. 
"Guess  he's  a  ringer." 

But  Dunbar  was  obliged  to  confess  he  had  not 
put  in  an  altogether  unprofitable  afternoon.  Lull 


90  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

had  made  the  time  pass  pleasantly.  Lull  on  the 
other  hand  was  sure  he  had  accomplished  something. 
Dunbar  recalled  how  naturally  he  had  been  led  into 
talking  about  the  revenues  of  his  business  at  the 
eating-house  and  in  horses,  not  to  mention  his  latest 
venture  in  a  saloon,  and  how  Lull  had  expressed 
surprise  that  such  a  circumscribed  range  of  oppor 
tunity  could  possibly  prove  satisfactory  to  a  man  of 
Dunbar's  parts.  They  had  spoken  earnestly  of  other 
enterprises  in  which  bright  intellects  could  engage, 
and  without  either  of  them  knowing  why,  had  agreed 
that  nothing  quite  came  up  to  the  possibilities  of 
the  show  business. 

"  You  are  cut  out  for  it,  Mr.  Dunbar,"  Lull  had 
said,  "  no  one  better.  It  struck  me  last  night  and 
I  know  it  now." 

The  mare  Dunbar  had  praised  so  highly  was  jog 
ging  along  the  road  like  a  family  horse  on  the  way 
to  the  meeting-house.  As  Dunbar  thought  it  over 
afterward  he  marvelled  how  his  attention  could 
have  been  so  completely  diverted  from  the  subject 
in  hand.  He  had  taken  a  day  off  to  sell  a  horse. 

"  If  you  could  only  get  the  right  thing,  Mr.  Dun- 
bar,  just  the  right  sort  of  thing,  you  could  roll  in 
money,"  Lull  had  said. 

"  Circus,  eh  ?     Dan  Rice  said  so,  too  ;  wanted  me 


THE  BOWER  OF  ROSES.  91 

to  be  a  king  of  the  sawdust,  or  a  Wild  Man  of 
Bor-ne-o,  I  disremember  which,  but  here  I  am  just 
plain  Lew  Dunbar  with  three  meals  a  day  and  a 
downy  couch  to  lay  my  weary  head  on." 

Lull  was  not  talking  of  a  circus,  he  said,  though 
Dunbar  insisted  on  taking  the  mention  of  the  sub 
ject  as  a  cue  on  the  strength  of  which  he  branched 
out  into  an  animated  dissertation  upon  the  allure 
ments  marshalled  by  the  snap  of  the  ringmaster's 
whip.  He  had  a  story  of  Pop  Whitaker,  of  ring 
masters  most  famous ;  an  anecdote  of  Levi  J. 
North,  arenic  centaur  of  his  day  ;  a  quip  unspoken 
by  Joe  Pentland,  the  merriest  of  the  clowns ;  in  fact 
an  endless  fund  of  entertainment  gathered  from  in 
timate  acquaintance  with  all  the  celebrities  of  the 
circus  of  that  day.  Dunbar  was  free  to  say  he  re 
garded  the  sawdust  ring  as  a  wide  space  that  worthy 
ambition  could  bustle  in,  the  centre  pole  as  the 
pivot  around  which  human  genius  might  revolve  in 
quest  of  untold  glory,  and  the  tented  space  as  a 
world  by  itself  where  virtue  triumphed  and  wrong 
was  punished  ;  it  was  all  this,  he  admitted,  and 
more,  but  it  was  not  for  him  to  dominate  such  a 
scene,  he  said,  and  he  put  aside  the  proffered  crown 
as  Caesar  did  before  him. 

While  he  rambled  on  in  this  way,  Lull's  measure 


92  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

of  the  man  fitted  the  better  the  pattern  he  had  in 
mind,  and  in  what  followed  he  exhausted  his  best 
resources  in  a  futile  effort  to  enlist  Dunbar's  sym 
pathy  in  the  suggestion.  It  was  little  stronger  than 
a  suggestion  from  first  to  last.  Dunbar  knew,  when 
he  contemplated  the  net  result  of  what  had  been 
said,  that  he  had  been  sounded  as  to  his  willingness 
to  join  Lull — he  felt  sure  he  could  go  that  far — in  a 
business  the  exact  nature  of  which  had  only  been 
described  by  the  use  of  the  word  "  show."  He  was 
really  bothered  to  know  what  the  talk  was  all 
about. 

"  Darn  his  buttons,"  Dunbar  said  to  himself, 
"why  don't  he  speak  out  in  meetin'?" 

He  resolved,  too,  to  press  his  new-made  friend 
hard  for  an  explanation  of  the  mystery.  As  Lull 
suddenly  left  Salina,  leaving  word  with  the  hotel 
people  that  he  had  been  summoned  away  on  urgent 
business  and  would  renew  communication  with 
Dunbar  at  a  future  time,  Dunbar  did  not  have  an 
immediate  chance  to  put  his  plan  into  execution. 
He  learned  of  Lull's  departure  the  same  night, 
when  three  or  four  of  the  frequenters  of  the  Salina 
House  dropped  in  on  him,  rather  late,  to  see  how 
things  were  going  under  Whiting's  Hall.  They 
were  curious  to  know  if  anything  like  a  horse  trade 


THE  BOWER  OF  ROSES.  93 

had  come  of  the  acquaintanceship.  Dunbar  dis 
missed  their  inquiries  as  cavalierly  as  he  could,  but 
kept  to  himself  the  fact  that  matters  of  a  different 
tenour  had  intervened.  He  was  hardly  blameable 
for  this  show  of  reticence. 

Dunbar  had  too  many  worries  incidental  to  the 
widening  of  his  responsibilities  to  brood  over  his 
unsatisfactory  relations  with  Lull  or  to  allow  himself 
to  regard  them  seriously  for  more  than  a  few  days. 
Besides,  he  was  a  man  of  sanguine  temperament 
whose  disposition  to  take  things  as  they  came  saved 
him  the  pain  of  many  a  doubt  that  another  less 
philosophical  would  have  keenly  felt. 

"You  dwell  too  long  on  one  subject,"  he  would 
often  say  to  show  his  distaste  for  clinging  to  any 
phase  of  a  discouragement. 

So  it  happened  when  Lull  returned  to  Salina,  as 
he  did  on  three  or  four  occasions  within  as  many 
months,  that  Dunbar  made  no  pretence  of  asserting 
himself  as  he  had  originally  designed.  Lull  never 
failed  on  each  visit  to  see  the  eating-house  keeper 
either  at  the  hotel  or  at  the  next  most  convenient 
place,  showing  in  this  and  other  ways  his  desire  to 
keep  on  closest  terms  of  intimacy  with  him.  On 
the  very  latest  meeting  between  the  two  men,  Lull 
had  broadly  hinted  that  there  might  come  a  time 


94  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

when  he  might  have  a  word  to  say  to  his  friend 
that  would  be  worth  listening  to.  But  the  hint  did 
not  verge  beyond  this  indefinite  line.  It  struck 
Dunbar  that  Lull  was  deeply  engrossed  in  a  matter 
that  made  his  comings  and  goings  more  than 
accidental.  It  was  now  past  dispute  that  he  was 
not  looking  for  a  chestnut  mare. 

Dunbar  was  dividing  his  time  between  the  eating- 
house  near  the  depot  and  the  Bower  of  Roses,  to 
the  evident  disadvantage  of  the  longer  established 
business.  He  needed  not  Lull's  advice  to  sell  out 
the  saloon,  and  "  be  ready  for  a  good  opening  in 
another  line,"  to  hurry  him  on  toward  release  from 
the  exactions  of  being  a  cave-dweller.  As  popular 
as  he  was  he  could  not  make  the  Bower  of  Roses  a 
counter  attraction  to  the  Salina  House.  Convivial 
townsfolk,  mostly  of  the  younger  sort,  gave  him  a 
call,  but  their  patronage,  lacking  regularity,  fell 
short  of  what  one  had  a  right  to  expect.  Then, 
too,  he  was  neglecting  his  interests  at  the  eating- 
house,  and  that  was  a  risk  he  determined  he  could 
not  afford  to  take.  Nor  had  he  been  able  to  recon 
cile  himself  to  the  fact  that  he  was  a  saloon  keeper, 
though  that  was  an  aspect  of  the  case  nobody  save 
Dunbar  ever  thought  of. 

One  day  Dunbar  made  the  trip  between   Salina 


THE  BOWER  OF  ROSES.  95 

and  Canasango  in  as  quick  time  as  the  railroad 
schedules  of  the  day  would  permit.  He  beamed  all 
over  when  he  was  back  in  the  Bower  of  Roses  that 
night,  and  properly  to  signalize  the  good  fortune 
that  had  overtaken  him,  poured  wine  when  a  party 
of  friends  ordered  a  drink  of  less  cost. 

"  We  didn't  order  that,  Lew,"  interposed  Con 
ductor  Ashley,  who  was  of  the  group,  "  but  rather 
than  see  an  old  man  suffer,  we'll  drink  and  pay  for 
it." 

"  Drink's  one  thing  ;  pay's  another,"  was  Dun- 
bar's  reply.  "  This  is  to  be  a  gala  night  in  the 
Bower  of  Roses.  The  golden  bowl  is  broken  " — 
and  Dunbar  tipped  the  foaming  bottle — "  and  your 
Uncle  Lew  settles  the  damages." 

"  Your  treat,  eh?  " 

"  Jest  so.  The  jig  is  up  and  the  monkey's  in 
the  box.  Say  your  last  farewell  to  the  Bower  of 
Roses.  To-morrer  it'll  be  a  hole  in  the  ground." 

"  Going  to  close  her  up  ?  "  put  in  the  conductor. 

"  No,  siree  ;  got  a  customer  who  wants  to  be 
buried  alive.  Boys,  with  me— to  the  Bower  of 
Roses."  And  the  toast  was  passed. 

There  was  natural  curiosity  to  know  who  was  to 
succeed  Dunbar  as  the  proprietor  of  the  place,  and 
how  he  had  induced  a  purchaser  to  assume  a  load 
he  had  not  been  able  to  carry, 


96  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

"  Ever  been  to  Canasango  ?  "  Dunbar  inquired. 
"  They  grow  pretty  green  there,"  and  this  was  all  he 
would  say. 

The  next  day  and  the  next  Dunbar  was  up  to 
his  ears  in  business,  calling  on  every  friend  who  was 
worthy  of  the  title.  He  approached  them  one  at  a 
time ;  did  not  charge  them  in  battalions,  as  he 
might  have  done.  To  each  he  repeated  the  an 
nouncement  that  he  was  about  to  sell  the  Bower  of 
Roses,  if,  when  the  prospective  purchaser  arrived 
the  following  Wednesday,  terms  could  be  arranged. 
Dunbar  was  just  passing,  he  said,  and  it  had  occurred 
to  him  on  the  instant  that  if  a  friend  or  two  of  his 
would  drop  into  the  "Bower  of  Roses  that  day  and 
order  wine  it  would  not  have  a  tendency  to  bar  the 
way  to  a  satisfactory  bargain  !  Of  course,  Dunbar 
added,  as  he  tapped  his  boot-leg  with  the  lath  he 
carried,  patronage  under  these  circumstances,  being 
in  the  line  of  friendship,  would  be  at  his  expense. 
Dunbar  was  sure  he  had  not  gone  too  far  in  saying 
at  Canasango  that  the  Bower  of  Roses  catered  to 
and  received  only  the  best  trade  of  the  town,  but  it 
would  be  a  kindness  he  would  not  forget  if  ocular 
proof  of  this  avowal  could  be  brought  to  the  atten 
tion  of  the  prospective  customer  ! 

"  It  would  kind  o'  hail  the  conquerin'  hero  when 
he  comes,"  Dunbar  said. 


THE  BOWER  OF  ROSES.  97 

So  he  went  the  rounds,  and  so  it  came  about  that 
the  following  Wednesday  at  the  Bower  of  Roses 
was  the  red  letter  day  in  its  history.  There  had 
been  time  for  Dunbar's  friends  to  discover  that  his 
invitation  had  been  more  pr  less  sweeping,  and  with 
or  without  his  consent,  the  plan  he  had  so  disin 
genuously  conceived  was  taken  out  of  his  hands  for 
development. 

The  eventful  day  found  the  prospective  purchaser 
from  Canasango  on  hand,  reinforced  by  a  friend, 
whom  it  was  thought  he  was  possibly  going  to  take 
in  as  a  partner.  The  strangers  were  taken  under 
Dunbar's  wing  and  put  under  the  hypnotic  spell  of 
his  eloquence. 

"  Don't  talk  your  victims  to  death,"  Dunbar  was 
advised. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  I  jest  want  to  chain  'em  to 
the  spot." 

Business  at  the  Bower  of  Roses  was  brisker  dur 
ing  the  day  than,  it  ever  had  been  in  anybody's  rec 
ollection.  Indeed  the  oldest  inhabitant,  if  the 
Bower  of  Roses  had  been  in  his  rounds,  could  have 
recalled  nothing  like  it.  One  after  another  the 
good  fellows  of  the  town  dropped  in,  and  on  the 
slightest  provocation  ordered  the  choicest  brands  in 
stock.  Wine  flowed,  as  the  saying  went,  like  water. 


98  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

Prompt  payment  seemed  to  be  the  rule.  Tens  and 
twenties  were  tossed  out  as  if  they  were  shin- 
plasters.  Money  changed  hands  as  if  the  Bower  of 
Roses  was  a  banking  house.  The  wonder  was  that 
the  prospective  purchaser  from  Canasango,  or  his 
friend,  did  not  notice  that  in  these  transactions  the 
amounts  handed  back,  while  in  bills  of  different  de 
nominations,  were  exactly  the  sums  of  the  original 
tenders.  Dunbar  stood  for  a  large  part  of  the  day 
with  his  elbows  braced  back  against  his  bar,  behind 
which  two  attendants,  instead  of  one,  were  at  work 
supplying  the  wants  of  the  procession  of  customers. 
His  face  shone  like  a  headlight.  By  and  by  he  be 
gan  to  suspect  that  what  he  had  intended  to  be  a 
gentle  incentive  for  the  transfer  of  idle  capital  from 
Canasango  to  Salina  was  rapidly  becoming  a  con 
spiracy  to  ruin  him  before  he  effected  a  sale.  After 
the  return  of  one  crowd  for  the  third  time,  he  went 
over  to  their  table  and  begged  for  mercy. 

"  Hold  your  horses,  boys,"  he  pleaded.  "  Don't 
draw  on  my  wine  cellar  as  if  it  was  the  long  level  of 
the  Erie  canal." 

Dunbar  could  not  stem  the  rising  tide  of  popu 
larity  which  surged  that  day  at  the  Bower  of 
Roses,  and  in  the  end  was  compelled  to  take  flight 
to  the  eating-house,  to  the  comparative  quietude  of 


THE  BOWER  OF  ROSES.  99 

which  he  finally  invited  the  two  Canasangos  in 
order  that  they  might  complete  the  bargain.  It 
did  not  take  all  day  for  the  principal  in  the  transac 
tion  to  conclude  the  Bower  of  Roses  was  every, 
thing  it  had  been  represented  to  be.  Dunbar  was 
pursued  by  his  friends  to  the  eating-house,  where, 
being  unable  to  call  for  wine,  they  devised  the  de 
vice  of  asking  him  for  loans  of  fifty  and  one  hun 
dred  dollars,  varying  these  demands  with  requests 
for  change  for  bank  notes  of  large  denominations, 
with  the  idea  of  conveying  the  notion  that  he  was 
always  in  funds,  as  indeed  was  the  truth.  One 
borrower  would  hand  the  money  received  to  a  co- 
conspirator,  who  would  then  rush  into  the  eating- 
house,  and  throw  it  down  where  Dunbar  was  sitting 
with  a  word  of  thanks  for  the  loan  of  the  week 
before. 

The  prospective  purchaser  went  back  to  Cana- 
sango  late  in  the  afternoon  with  a  bill  of  sale  in  his 
pocket.  The  amount  paid  for  the  Bower  of  Roses, 
its  lease,  fixtures,  stock,  etc.,  was  never  divulged  by 
Dunbar,  but  inasmuch  as  he  never  whimpered  over 
the  lavish  dispensation  of  hospitality  which  at 
tended  the  sale,  it  was  agreed  he  had  driven  a  sharp 
bargain. 

Before  he  went  to  bed  that  night  Dunbar  wrote 


ioo  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

his  daughter  to  tell  her,  not  what  he  had  done,  but 
that  he  had  consummated  a  sale  of  property  out  of 
the  proceeds  of  which  she  was  entitled  to  a  share 
whenever  she  wanted  it.  This  was  the  usual  tenour 
of  his  letters  to  Grace,  despite  the  intimation 
brought  back  to  him  by  Father  O'Horan  that  in  a 
convent  the  least  of  a  girl's  wants  is  ready  money. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  NIGHT  AT  THE  HOTEL  CLUB. 

THE  Salina  House  gained  what  the  Bower  of 
Roses  had  lost.  Dunbar  graced  the  scene  with 
more  frequency  than  had  been  his  former  habit, 
with  the  result  that  the  evening  sessions  at  the  eat 
ing-house  became  periodical  instead  of  regular,  al 
though  he  continued  to  do  business  at  the  old 
stand  and  to  make  it  pay. 

"  My  business  is  with  the  weary  traveller,"  he 
said,  in  explaining  how  it  was  that  he  was  a  com 
placent  observer  of  the  changed  conditions.  "  I 
so-licit  no  home  trade." 

This  was  uttered  with  a  sly  glance  at  the  circle 
of  his  old  cronies  who  had  set  out  to  'badger  him 
about  what  they  asserted  was  loss  of  trade  at  the 
eating-house. 

"  My  experience  with  these  people  in  Salina,"  he 
continued,  "  is  that  you  can  get  more  into  'em  than 
you  can  out  of  'em."  And  he  called  as  a  witness 
Mine  Host  Bower,  who,  however,  failed  to  come  to 
his  relief. 


102  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

"  You  are  a  fair  sample  of  the  breed,"  he  said, 
"  and  no  one  can  say  you  don't  shell  out,  Lew." 

To  this  testimonial  to  his  proverbial  generosity — 
"  Even  when  he  hasn't  a  saloon  to  sell,"  interjected 
somebody — there  was  a  chorus  of  cordial  approval 
that  made  Dunbar  toss  his  head  with  a  proud 
swagger. 

"  Keep  things  goin'  's  my  motto,"  Dunbar  went 
on.  "  Did  you  ever  think  how  many  good  things 
there  are  in  this  world  and  how  few  we  get  of 
'em  ?  You're  sure  of  nuthin'  but  what's  on  your 
back  or  in  your  stummick.  1  tell  you,  boys,  if 
money  was  meant  to  be  kept  they  wouldn't  be 
makin'  it  round,"  and  Dunbar  sent  a  golden  eagle 
whizzing  across  the  floor  on  its  chime.  As  he  re 
claimed  the  shining  piece  of  money  he  added  : 
"  Did  you  see  her  roll  ?  " 

The  crude  optimism  of  this  characteristic  speech 
was  being  affirmed  by  the  sound  of  laughter  when 
the  door  of  the  office  opened  and  in  walked  Ephraim 
Lull.  As  it  was  past  the  hour  of  the  latest  train  to 
arrive  from  either  direction  in  Salina  his  coming 
was  in  the  nature  of  a  surprise.  Interest  in  his 
arrival  was  piqued,  too,  by  his  untidy  appearance. 
He  had  evidently  been  driving  over  the  country 
roads,  which  in  October  offered  few  fascinations 


A  NIGHT  AT  THE  HOTEL  CLUB.     103 

and  many  aggravations.  Lull  had  been  often 
enough  at  the  Salina  House  since  his  first  advent 
to  entitle  him  to  a  warm  welcome  from  the  even 
ing's  company,  and  he  accepted  the  greeting  with  a 
hand-shake  around  before  he  placed  his  name  on 
the  registry  and  went  to  his  room.  He  was  far 
from  being  a  communicative  individual,  and  it  was 
therefore  taken  as  an  especially  uncommon  thing 
for  him  to  remark  that  he  expected  to  go  straight 
to  bed  so  as  to  be  up  betimes  in  the  morning,  as 
he  was  not  further  to  prolong  his  stay.  When 
he  reached  the  door  leading  to  the  main  hallway 
he  beckoned  to  Dunbar,  and  when  they  were  out  of 
hearing,  apologised  for  being  in  such  a  "  devil  of  a 
hurry." 

"Sorry  not  to  have  seen  you  when  I  was  here 
yesterday,"  he  said,  "  but  better  luck  next  time. 
Perhaps  I  can  make  a  dollar  for  you,  too.  Good 
night." 

When  Dunbar  resumed  his  chair  in  the  charmed 
circle  in  the  hotel  office,  he  found  a  discussion  in 
progress  touching  Lull's  mission  in  Salina.  The 
man  had  come  and  gone  too  often,  without  reveal 
ing  his  objective  point,  not  to  have  excited  the 
imagination  of  the  frequenters  of  the  tavern.  It 
was  no  longer  believed  that  Lull  was  in  Salina  in 


104  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

quest  of  a  chestnut  mare.  Dunbar  was  months  be 
fore  convinced  of  the  same  thing,  but  he  had  given 
up  as  a  bad  job  any  attempt  to  fathom  the  mystery. 
Yet  he  could  not  quite  disabuse  himself  of  the  idea 
that  in  an  inexplicable  manner  he  would  figure  con 
spicuously  in  the  solution. 

The  whole  company  centered  a  fire  of  inquiry  on 
Dunbar  and  Capt.  Bower  in  the  hope  of  deriving  the 
desired  information.  Dunbar  said  he  was  no  for 
tune-teller,  and  suggested  that  any  one  who  was 
par-ticularly  anxious  to  know  Lull's  business  might 
cross  with  silver  the  next  gypsy's  hand  he  met. 
There  was  no  more  enlightenment  in  the  landlord's 
response  to  the  questions,  drive  them  home  as  they 
would,  on  the  theory  that  he  ought  to  be  familiar 
with  the  personal  history  of  every  guest  he  had. 

"  I  have  been  wondering  myself,"  Capt.  Bower 
said,  walking  over  into  the  group  and  stooping  down 
as  if  about  to  be  very  confidential,  "  I  have  been 
wondering  myself,  if  this  mysterious  stranger  is  not 
the  man  Sheriff  Roberts  is  looking  for  in  connec 
tion  with  the  Savery  case.  Did  it  ever  strike  you 
he  looked  like  a  red-handed  murderer  ?  " 

This  bit  of  pleasantry  at  the  expense  of  the  in 
quisitive  company  effectually  turned  the  conversa 
tion  to  the  deeper  mystery  surrounding  the  killing 


A  NIGHT  AT  THE  HOTEL  CLUB.     105 

of  Vincent  Savery  on  his  farm  just  on  the  northern 
outskirts  of  the  town.  The  crime  was  now  a  week 
old  and  it  was  puzzling  the  authorities  to  find  either 
the  culprit  or  a  motive.  It  was  obviously  the  prev 
alent  opinion  in  the  community  that  the  man's 
wife  had  a  hand  in  the  deed,  but  to  that  contention, 
unsupported  as  it  was  by  known  guilt,  Dunbar 
raised  violent  objection.  He  was  not  ordinarily  a 
bitter  man,  but  in  this  instance  he  showed  a  side  of 
his  disposition  which  was  new  to  most  of  his  lis 
teners. 

Edgar  Bartlett,  who  was  often  of  the  company  at 
the  Salina  House,  was  there  that  night.  He  was 
the  Lawyer  Bartlett  whose  opinion  was  always  cited 
in  Salina  disputes  involving  legal  controversies,  to 
the  utter  dismay  of  any  one  having  a  different  view. 

In  Salina  it  was  a  perilous  thing  to  combat  what 
Lawyer  Bartlett  had  to  say.  Lawyer  Bartlett  had 
been  the  District  Attorney  of  the  county  and  had 
made  a  record  for  himself  which  set  him  up  in  busi 
ness  as  the  foremost  criminal  lawyer  of  the  section. 
In  most  of  the  murder  cases  tried  since  his  term  in 
that  office,  as  well  as  some  others  of  as  much  im 
portance,  Lawyer  Bartlett  had  been  for  the  defence, 
and  no  one  better  than  he  loved  to  recount  what 
was  believed  to  be  the  "  inner  history  "  of  them. 


106  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

It  was  at  the  expense  of  Lawyer  Bartlett,  by  the 
way,  that  Dunbar  had  made  an  oft-repeated  quip. 
The  lawyer  was  ailing  at  the  time,  or  thought  he 
was,  and  was  connecting  the  impairment  of  his 
health  with  the  stupendous  labour  he  had  expended 
in  trying  to  save  the  life  of  a  murderer  who  had 
eventually  paid  the  penalty  of  his  crime  on  the 
gallows. 

"  I  lost  my  health  in  that  case,"  Bartlett  had  said. 

"  Yes,"  was  Dunbar's  sally,  "  and  if  I  don't  miss 
my  guess  your  client  lost  his." 

It  was  more  than  suspected  that  Lawyer  Bartlett 
had  never  forgotten  this  deadly  stab  at  his  reputa 
tion,  for  if  there  was  a  man  in  Salina  who  did  not 
regard  Dunbar's  witticisms  as  harmless  it  was  Law- 

o 

yer  Bartlett.  He  was  alert  to  see  in  the  present  op 
portunity  an  opening  for  a  barbed  speech.  Dunbar 
had  exposed  a  tender  spot. 

"You  needn't  tell  us,"  Bartlett  said  when  Dunbar 
had  made  it  apparent  how  he  stood  in  the  Savery 
case,  "  what  you  think  of  any  case  where  a  woman 
is  concerned.  After  the  Arthur  case  I  think  it  may 
be  safely  concluded  that  justice  had  better  look 
elsewhere  than  to  our  friend  Dunbar  for  unin 
fluenced  expression.' 

It  appeared  from  what  ensued  in  the  conversation 


A  NIGHT  AT  THE  HOTEL  CLUB.     107 

that  there  had  been  an  accusation  of  murder  against 
a  Mrs.  Arthur  during  Bartlett's  term  as  District 
Attorney,  and  that  on  the  trial  Dunbar  had  sat  in 
the  jury  box.  The  woman  was  now  at  large,  no 
one  knew  where,  having  been  pronounced  guiltless 
after  a  sitting  of  the  jury  historical  in  its  protract- 
edness.  This  rapid  sketch  of  the  case  Bartlett  had 
drawn,  in  order  to  bring  the  narrative  up  to  the 
point  of  averring,  with  considerable  asperity,  the 
guilt  of  the  accused,  and  declaring  Dunbar  to  have 
been  the  wilful  instrument  of  a  vicious  miscarriage 
of  justice.  It  was  plain  that  Bartlett  was  speaking 
with  feeling,  and  that  while  he  made  the  pretence 
of  poking  a  little  fun  at  his  victim  he  aimed  to  be 
little  Dunbar's  intelligence.  The  sting  of  the 
rebuke  was  in  the  thinly-veiled  aspersion  on  Dun- 
bar's  failure  to  perform,  without  fear  or  favour, 
prejudice,  or  sentiment,  the  duties  imposed  on  every 
citizen  of  the  State  when  summoned  to  sit  among  a 
jury  sworn  to  support  the  solemn  mandate  of  the 
law.  To  shirk  or  slight  this  duty  was  deemed  to 
be  an  odious  disregard  of  a  citizen's  patriotic  obli 
gations.  Dunbar  manifested  no  sign  of  resentment 
under  the  assault  save  to  stand  up  and  face  his  tor 
mentor,  his  thumbs  in  his  arm-pits  and  his  eyes 
a-twinkle. 


icS  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

"  Now  let  me  tell  you  what  happened  in  that 
case,"  Bartlett  continued.  "  I  had  made  the  best 
case  of  my  official  practice.  Everybody  said  the 
woman  was  guilty." 

"  Not  guilty  was  the  verdict,"  put  in  Dunbar 
very  dryly. 

"  Well  everybody  but  our  friend  Dunbar." 

"  It  takes  twelve  to  make  a  verdict  in  this  coun 
try,"  said  Dunbar,  and  the  assembled  company 
saw  the  early  development  of  a  battle  of  quick  wits. 

"  Yes,  exactly,"  Bartlett  went  on.  "  When  the 
jury  first  voted,  the  ballot  stood  eleven  to  one  for 
conviction.  Is  that  so,  Mr.  Dunbar?" 

"  Figures  ap-prox-i-mately  right,"  was  the  curt 
reply.  Dunbar  had  resumed  his  seat,  and  the 
listeners  had  drawn  their  chairs  closer. 

"  I  say  the  vote  was  eleven  to  one.  It's  an  old 
story  now,  so  tell  us  the  truth." 

Bartlett  looked  sharp  at  Dunbar,  who  wiggled  his 
cigar  stump  from  one  side  of  his  mouth  to  the 
other,  and  answered : 

"  Good  guess.  Couldn't  been  better  if  you'd  had 
your  ear  to  the  key-hole." 

Bartlett's  manner,  falling  as  he  did  naturally  into 
the  cross-examining  process,  was  tending  to  irritate 
Dunbar. 


A  NIGHT  AT  THE  HOTEL  CLUB.     109 

"  Good  guess,  eh  ?  And  I  venture  the  other 
guess  that  you  were  among  those  who  voted  for 
conviction  at  the  beginning." 

"  I'd  have  to  swear  to  that  on  a  stack  of  Bibles 
as  high  as  the  liberty  pole.  Right  you  are." 

"  Well,  it  took  the  first  day — yes,  I  think  it  was 
just  a  day — to  bring  the  other  fellow  around  to 
conviction.  He  was  a  butcher  named  Solzberg, 
and  very  stubborn." 

"  Stubborn's  an  army  mule,"  Dunbar  said. 

"  Glad  to  see  you  recognise  the  breed,  Mr.  Dun- 
bar,"  the  lawyer  said,  with  an  irony  in  his  delivery 
of  the  words  that  did  not  miss  fire. 

"  Know  'em  to  the  bone,"  Dunbar  remarked. 
"  Back  'em  when  you  want  'em  to  git  ap.  That's 
my  way." 

"  Well,  would  you  believe  it,  gentlemen,"  Bartlett 
resumed  with  a  tragic  air,  "  when  the  jury  formally 
voted  to  find  the  woman  guilty,  after  convincing 
that  fool  Solzberg,  the  ballot  stood  just  where  it 
was  before  :  eleven  to  one.  Who  do  you  suppose 
voted  for  acquittal  then,  after  all  this  foolishness  ?  " 

You  would  never  have  picked  Dunbar  for  the 
culprit,  but  lo  !  he  was  the  man,  and  Bartlett  made 
announcement  of  it  with  melodramic  flourish. 

"  So  far  so  good,"    Dunbar   said  when    Bartlett 


no  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

leaned  back  to  enjoy  what  he  thought  would  be  his 
victim's  discomfiture.  Not  succeeding  in  doing 
much  beyond  exciting  the  curiosity  of  the  company 
in  how  the  jury  finally  came  to  yield  to  Dunbar's 
way  of  thinking,  Bartlett  confessed  himself  stumped 
and  ended  his  narrative  by  remarking  that  "  white 
man  is  mighty  unsartin." 

Of  course  Dunbar  was  prodded  vigorously  for  the 
missing  explanation.  And  he  was  ready  with  it. 

"  I'm  just  an  old  sport,  and  of  course  don't  know 
no  more  'bout  the  law  than  a  nanny  goat,  but  if  the 
blind  goddess  of  justice  don't  want  my  'pinion  she 
can  tend  to  her  knittin'  and  let  me  go  on  my  way 
rejoicin'.  I  couldn't  see  it,  for  the  life  of  me,  that 
the  woman  dealt  the  fatal  blow.  But  I  did  see 
there  was  goin'  to  be  a  misdeal.  I  got  wind  of  the 
fact  early  in  the  game  that  my  boon  companions  on 
that  jury  were  bound  to  string  her  up  if  they  could. 
So  I  felt  around  for  a  place  to  tie  to.  Solzberg,  the 
butcher  boy,  didn't  like  hangin'  no  how,  and  told 
me  he  wouldn't  be  budged.  But  they  come  down 
on  him  like  a  thousand  of  brick,  and  got  him  into  a 
canter  on  the  back  stretch.  But  while  he  lasted, 
bless  your  heart,  I  jest  made  Rome  howl  with  my 
cries  for  the  blood  of  that  mother  of  murderers. 
I  said  she  was  as  guilty  as  a  dog,  and  if  worse  come 


ANIGHT  AT  THE  HOTEL  CLUB,     in 

to  worse,  Lewis  Dunbar,  in  the  name  of  justice, 
would  be  the  man  to  pull  the  rope  to  hang  her. 
Then  we  all  had  a  kind  of  town  meetin'  at  which 
we  agreed  to  use  powerful  pur-suasion  on  Solzberg, 
the  butcher.  I  knew  he  was  weakenin',  and  to 
brace  him  up,  chimed  in  with  him,  when  he  spoke 
for  himself.  And  he  put  in  some  good  licks,  too,  did 
the  butcher.  I  did  some  tall  backin'  and  fillin'  on 
my  own  account,  and  believe  me  or  not,  before  they 
had  talked  Solzberg  up  to  the  hangin'  point,  five  or 
six  of  'em  were  whisperin'  into  my  off  ear  that  the 
butcher  was  more'n  half  right." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  anything  like  it  ?  "  was  Bart- 
lett's  question,  as  he  figetted  in  his  seat  like  one  of 
his  own  victims  under  cross-examination.  "No 
wonder  crime  flourishes  under  our  very  noses." 

"  Jest  so,"  Dunbar  said,  going  on  with  his  recital. 
"  Of  all  the  brace  games  I  ever  got  into  in  my 
varied  ca-reer  jury  talkin'  takes  the  palm.  Did  you 
ever  serve  your  country  doin'  jury  duty?  No? 
Well,  take  my  cue,  and  steer  clear  of  it.  Let  your 
self  be  locked  into  a  dungeon  with  eleven  good 
men  and  true  and  see  if  you  don't  say  human  na 
ture's  fuller  of  kinks  than  a  pine  knot.  Well,  as  I 
was  sayin',  Lawyer  Bartlett  so  gumfuzzled  the  jury 
that,  without  knowin'  it,  they  were  seein*  ghosts. 


ii2  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

It  was  pretty  hard  sleddin',  you  can  better  believe, 
for  a  humble  citizen  like  your  Uncle  Lew  tryin'  to 
point  the  straight  and  narrow  way  to  eleven  mis 
guided  mortals.  Bartlett's  speech  at  the  end  of 
the  trial  had  been  as  beautiful  as  a  Fourth  of  July 
oration,  the  Con-sti-tution  and  the  De-claration  of 
Indepen-dence  thrown  in  for  good  measure." 

"  But  you  seem  to  have  won  your  case,  Lew,  as 
the  verdict  was  not  guilty,"  said  a  listener. 

"  Things  did  come  my  way,  of  course,"  replied 
Dunbar,  "  but  think  of  puttin'  in  two  days  on  the 
job !  I  could  buy  Flora  Temple  and  have  her  sold 
agin  in  half  the  time." 

"  Two  days  ?  "  interposed  Bartlett,  "  you  mean 
six  days.  It  took  six  days  to  cheat  the  gallows  of 
its  deserts." 

"  Pre-haps  you're  right,  seein'  you  put  it  that  way 
— cheatin'  the  gallus  of  its  de-serts.  I  had  the  jury 
buttoned  up  for  Mrs.  Arthur's  acquittal  in  two." 

"  Then  what  in  Heaven's  name  kept  the  jury  out 
six  days  ?  "  asked  Bartlett,  as  he  looked  around  with 
a  self-satisfied  grin. 

"We  were  tryin'  to  fix  the  guilt,  don't  you  un 
derstand  ?"  Dunbar  made  answer.  "You  see  by 
the  time  Solzberg  caved  in,  and  went  over  to  the 
ma-jority,  my  faith  in  Mrs.  Arthur's  guilt  was  so  un- 


ANIGHT  AT  THE  HOTEL  CLUB.     113 

dermined  I  had  to  come  out  red-hot  for  acquittal. 
I'd  been  won  over  by  Solzberg's  arguments,  d'y'u 
understand.  The  rest  of  'em  saw  that  to  swing  me 
loose  from  the  hangin'  side  must  have  taken  suthin' 
powerful,  and  so  I  jest  hammered  along  those  lines 
till  one  by  one  they  saw  the  error  of  their  ways  and 
jined  me.  That's  what  took  two  days.  Jest  so 
soon's  we  de-cided  that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  was 
inno-cent,  the  question  was  who  done  the  murder, 
if  she  didn't  ?  It  was  a  poser,  too,  and  as  we  were 
all  sworn  good  men  and  true  to  hunt  crime  down,  we 
went  at  it  like  good  citizens.  Everybody  saw  how 
terrible  a  thing  it  would  have  been  to  have  hung 
Mrs.  Arthur,  and  everybody  trembled  to  think  how 
darn  near  we'd  come  to  doin'  it.  And  it  was  all 
through  your  elo-quence,  Lawyer  Bartlett.  And 
would  you  believe  it,  they  made  up  their  minds  a 
man  who'd  try  to  hang  an  inno-cent  woman  was  as 
bad  as  any  murderer,  and  I  had  all  I  could  do  tryin' 
to  stop  'em  bringin'  in  a  verdict  against  you  for  at 
tempted  murder.  That's  why  we  stayed  in  retire 
ment  for  the  other  four  days.  Whoopee  !  but  it 
was  a  close  shave  for  you  ! " 

In  the  burst  of  hilarity  at  Bartlett's  expense 
which  followed  this  conclusion  of  the  story,  the 
lawyer  took  unceremonious  flight.  The  way  he 


ii4  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

swung  the  door  shut  as  he  went  out  might  have 
waked  the  dead.  It  did  serve  to  make  Ephraim 
Lull  start  from  the  half-doze  in  which  he  was  coun 
terfeiting  sleep  in  his  room  immediately  above  the 
office.  Lull  was  too  nervous  that  night  to  go  off 
into  the  deep  slumber  which  was  his  wont. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   CARDIFF   GIANT. 

THE  stage  which  carried  mail  and  passengers 
every  day  but  Sunday  between  Salina  and  Cardiff 
came  over  the  road  the  following  morning  at  a  rate 
of  speed  to  attain  which  Doc  Simon's  pair  of  roans 
had  hitherto  been  thought  incapable.  Doc  Simon 
was  pregnant  with  news.  The  telling  of  it  at  vari 
ous  points  on  the  eight-mile  route  had  occasioned 
more  stops  than  usual,  and  as  a  consequence,  each 
time  when  he  whipped  up  his  horses  in  order  to 
hasten  on,  his  two  passengers  were  jolted  harder 
than  ever  over  the  rough  road. 

The  stage-driver's  news  when  delivered  in  Salina, 
as  it  was  almost  before  he  got  down  from  his  seat 
in  the  mud-covered,  canopy-top  democrat  wagon  in 
front  of  the  Kingman  House,  where  he  put  up, 
made  October  16,  1869,  memorable  in  the  county's 
history. 

Doc  Simon  was,  to  be  sure,  blissfully  innocent  of 
the  part  he  was  playing  in  a  great  event,  and  as  he 
was  killed — poor  fellow — two  weeks  later  by  being 


ii6  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

thrown  out  of  his  wagon  on  his  way  home  in  a 
blinding  snow  storm,  he  died  in  the  same  state  of 
woeful  ignorance.  But  the  stage-driver  had  been 
making  the  trip  between  Cardiff  and  Salina  for 
"  nigh  onto  twenty  years,  man  and  boy,"  without 
ever  before  having  been  able  to  bring  into  town  a 
piece  of  news  that  Frank  March,  the  "  local "  of  the 
afternoon  paper,  thought  a  fair  return  for  the  free 
copy  to  which  the  Cardiff  stage  was  deemed  to  be 
entitled.  Cardiff  had  never  developed  as  a  news 
centre.  All  the  way  to  Salina  that  morning  Doc 
Simon  had  been  enjoying  the  sensation  he  thought 
he  would  create  when  he  told  his  friend,  the  "  local  " 
that  a  stone  giant  had  been  dug  up  on  Stub  Dewell's 
farm  over  on  the  west  side  of  the  valley.  He  fairly 
gloated  at  the  prospect  of  being,  for  once,  a  wel 
come  messenger  to  the  newspaper  office. 

As  the  stage  came  through  Doc  Simon's  lack  of 
wonted  volubility  was  commented  on  by  the  land- 
lords  at  the  wayside  taverns.  All  he  would  say  was 
that  Stub  Dewell  had  dug  up  a  stone  giant.  He 
had  to  divulge  this  much  of  his  news  or  he  would 
have  burst.  But  the  best  of  it  he  saved  for  first 
deliverance  as  payment  for  the  free  copy  of  the 
paper. 

When  he  went  to  the  newspaper  office,  three  steps 


THE  CARDIFF  GIANT.  117 

at  a  time  up  the  stairs,  he  found  the  "  local  "  in  a 
doubting  mood. 

"  I  seen  it  myself  last  night,"  Simon  cried  out 
loud  enough  for  the  three  printers  in  the  next  room 
to  hear.  "  I  seen  it  myself  and  know  it's  true.  Stub 
took  me  an'  Josh  Wilson  down  where  'twas  and  by 
lantern  we  seen  it.  It's  right  down  in  the  hole  where 
they  wuz  diggin'  for  a  barn  foundation.  They 
struck  it  yestiddy  arternoon,  abeout  candle-light,  and 
left  it  there.  It's  a  big  man  fellow  more'n  sixteen 
feet  tall,  I  reckon.  Stub  said  they'd  put  no  mea 
sure  on  it  yit." 

Such  other  particulars  concerning  the  discovery  of 
the  stone  giant  as  the  stage-driver  was  able  to  furnish 
were  drawn  from  him  and  embodied  in  an  item  which 
duly  appeared  in  the  day's  issue,  and  for  which  Doc 
Simon  waited  long  after  his  usual  starting  hour,  much 
to  the  discomfort  of  the  two  ladies  he  had  brought 
from  Cardiff  in  the  morning,  and  who  were  com 
plaining  to  him  he  would  not  get  them  home  with 
their  parcels  in  time  to  get  supper.  Truth  to  tell, 
Simon  was  sorely  disappointed  that  his  news  had  not 
been  given  more  prominence,  but  there  was  partial 
compensation  in  the  fact  that  he  found  the  story  of 
the  giant  credited  to  "  Doc  Simon,  the  genial  and 
popular  proprietor  of  the  Cardiff  stage."  He  did 


ii8  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

not  divine  that  in  this  ingenious  fashion  the  careful 
"  local  "  had  guarded  his  paper  from  responsibility 
for  the  reported  discovery.  The  tail  piece  to  the 
item  to  the  effect  that  "  the  report  lacks  authenti 
cation  "  did  not  strike  the  stage-driver  as  it  did  other 
readers.  Despite  Mr.  March's  admonition  to  "keep 
his  mouth  shut "  Simon  had  been  unable  entirely 
to  resist  the  temptation  to  anticipate  the  issue  of 
the  paper,  and  had  told  his  tidings  to  a  number  of 
curious  listeners  around  town.  In  this  way  Dunbar 
had  heard  it,  Simon  having  dropped  into  the  eating- 
house  as  he  often  did,  for  a  bite  to  eat. 

At  the  Salina  House  that  night  a  deal  of  incre 
dulity  was  expressed  regarding  the  giant  story.  Mr. 
March,  who  was  supposed  to  know  what  there  was 
of  fact  and  fancy  in  it,  professed  to  be  unknowing 
of  its  truth  except  so  far  as  he  said  Doc  Simon,  the 
stage-driver,  was  in  deep  earnest  in  giving  the  details. 
Yet  the  "  local  "  was  apparently  of  the  Doubting 
Thomases.  Dunbar,  too,  when  he  came  in,  was 
inclined  to  scout  the  idea  that  the  stone  man  found 
on  the  Dewell  farm  was  of  pre-Adamite  origin.  This 
scientific  allusion  was  of  Lawyer  Bartlett's  invention, 
not  Dunbar's.  Dunbar  called  it  a  graven  image,  and 
suggested  that  as  the  owner  of  the  farm  could  not 
get  a  crop  of  anything  else  out  of  the  soil,  he  had 


THE  CARDIFF  GIANT.  119 

planted  some  old  time  rocks  and  was  raising  stone 
giants. 

Al  Whitman,  who  had  recently  been  taken  into 
partnership  by  Lawyer  Bartlett,  and  had  joined  the 
crowd  at  the  Salina  House  by  his  invitation,  was  a 
Cardiff  boy.  He  indignantly  resented  the  imputation 
that  the  Cardiff  lands  lacked  fertility.  There  were 
no  better  farm  lands  in  the  state,  he  insisted. 

"  Good  farm  lands  in  Cardiff !  "  Dunbar  replied, 
"  good  farm  lands  !  Why  I  know  a  poor  cuss  out 
there  who  set  out  some  tomato  plants  three  years  ago 
and  they  have  never  come  up  high  enough  for  him  to 
get  hold  of  'em  with  a  pair  of  pinchers." 

Whitman  would  have  replied  in  kind  to  this  libel 
on  his  natal  soil,  had  he  not  been  asked  what  he  knew 
of  Stub  Dewell,  on  whose  farm  the  discovery  of  the 
giant  had  been  made.  From  what  he  said  it  was  to 
be  gathered  that  Dewell  was  of  the  every-day  kind, 
neither  sharper  nor  duller  than  the  average  of  farmers 
who  grubbed  for  a  living  all  their  lives  in  a  place 
remote  from  enlightening  influences.  It  was  not  to 
be  suspected,  Whitman  said,  that  Dewell  would 
have  foresight  enough  to  concoct  a  humbug. 

"  Guess  you're  right,  young'un,"  put  in  Dunbar, 
"  Barnums  are  about  as  short  a  crop  in  them  dig- 
gin's  as  tomatoes.  But  it  takes  brains  to  get  up 


120  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

cherry  -  coloured  cats  and  horses  -  with  -  their  -  heads- 
\vhere-their-tails-ought-to-be.  Hear  me,  there's 
a  nigger  in  the  fence  in  this  business.  When  I  go  to 
Cardiff  to-morrer  I'm  goin'  to  look  under  the  rails 
for  him." 

"What  takes  you  out  there?"  asked  Conductor 
Ashley.  "  You  certainly  don't  hope  to  make  the 
giant  a  customer  of  the  eating-house  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Dunbar,  "  stone  men  have  no  digestion. 
But  I've  been  around  the  Horn  once  or  twice,  and 
perhaps  I've  met  the  giant.  Anyway  I'm  goin' 
to  have  a  look  at  the  peep-show." 

The  fun  of  a  journey  in  the  crisp  October  air,  with 
Lewis  Dunbar  as  a  guide,  hit  the  fancy  of  the  as 
sembled  company,  and  it  was  agreed  that  as  large  a 
party  as  possible  should  be  made  up,  to  visit  the  giant 
the  next  day.  Conductor  Ashley  said  if  Dunbar 
would  hook  up  Lady  Montressor  and  take  him  he 
would  join  the  excursion. 

"  You  haven't  sold  the  mare  to  our  friend  Lull, 
have  you,  Lew?"  the  conductor  inquired,  a  state 
ment  to  which  Dunbar  merely  nodded  his  assent,  im 
mediately  thereafter  making  it  convenient  to  lounge 
toward  the  hotel  desk  and  in  an  undertone  question 
Capt.  Bower  touching  Lull's  departure  from  the  Sa- 
lina  House  early  that  morning.  It  was  evident  Dun- 


THE  CARDIFF  GIANT.  121 

bar's  imagination  was  beginning  to  work.  But  he 
kept  his  own  counsel  and  went  to  bed  filled  with 
suspicion. 

October  could  not  have  contributed  a  more  per 
fect  day  than  the  next  to  make  the  invasion  of 
Cardiff  auspicious.  There  had  been  a  flurry  of  snow 
during  the  night,  but  it  melted  away  under  the 
slanting  sunlight,  and  without  softening  the  roads 
gave  the  tires  a  surface  that  yielded  nicely  to  the 
flying  wheels  in  the  rutted  spots.  Dunbar  left 
Lady  Montressor  at  home,  but  hitched  a  spanking 
pair  to  a  double-seater  and  took  in  Mr.  March  and 
Capt.  Bower,  as  well  as  Conductor  Ashley.  The 
"  local  "  had  come  to  the  conclusion  it  was  worth 
his  while  to  leave  his  page  to  look  after  itself 
for  a  day  while  he  went  to  the  bottom  of  the  giant 
story.  It  was  his  report  of  his  findings,  his  faith  in 
the  authenticity  of  the  discovery  and  his  access  to 
the  telegraph  wires,  which  set  the  world  agog  within 
a  week  afterwards.  The  Cardiff  Giant  became 
famous  from  end  to  end  of  the  civilised  globe. 

The  visit  of  Dunbar  and  his  companions  to  the 
resting  place  of  the  giant  was  not  productive  of  all 
the  amusement  which  had  been  anticipated.  Dun- 
bar  was  in  a  meditative  frame  of  mind,  it  was  evi 
dent,  and  was  too  matter-of-fact  in  his  contempla- 


122  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

tion  of  the  features  and  torso  of  the  mass  of  stone 
laying  in  the  pit  in  the  Dewell  barnyard.  Not  over 
a  score  of  farmers,  including  three  or  four  of  their 
womenfolk,  were  spectators  that  day.  They  were 
enjoying  the  privilege  of  seeing  the  wonder  of  the 
age  without  paying  the  fees  that  subsequently  filled 
the  coffers  of  its  exhibitors. 

Dewell  stood  at  Dunbar's  elbow  and  he  casually 
inquired  : 

"  Coin'  to  make  the  folks  pay  to  see  this,  eh, 
Dewell?  There's  a  pot  o'  money  in  this  I  should 
judge." 

"  That's  what  I've  been  thinkin'.  My  woman  first 
put  it  into  my  head,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  we'd  put  a  tent  over  the  giant 
and  charge  to  come  in.  It's  wuth  something  to  look 
at,  don't  yeou  think  ?" 

"Wuth  it?"  Dunbar  repeated,  "of  course  it's 
wuth  it.  I  know  men  who'd  be  as  rich  as  Barnum 
if  they  had  it.  Lull  is  that  kind  of  a  man.  Don't 
happen  to  be  a-cquainted  with  Ephraim  Lull,  do 
you,  Dewell  ?  " 

"  Never  hearn  tell  on  him,"  was  Dewell's  brusque 
answer,  as  he  turned  on  his  heel,  and  walked  away 
with  Dunbar's  eyes  riveted  on  his  broad  back  as  if 
they  would  disintegrate  every  separate  yarn  in  his 
homespun. 


THE  CARDIFF  GIANT.  123 

"  You  ought  to  get  hold  of  Lull  and  have  him 
take  charge  of  the  show,"  Dunbar  shouted  to  Dew- 
ell  a  half  hour  later  as  he  untied  his  horses  at  the 
fence  and  prepared  for  departure.  "  I'll  send  him 
out  here  if  you  say  so  ?  " 

"Guess  I'll  go  it  'lone,"  was  Dewell's  rejoinder. 
"  Don't  need  no  pardners." 

"All  right  ;  no  harm  done  in  speakin',"  Dunbar 
said,  and  then  led  the  procession  of  carriages  from 
town  down  the  road  toward  Salina. 

The  question  in  Salina — and  it  was  a  question 
echoed  around  the  world — was  whether  the  Cardiff 
Giant  was  a  petrified  man,  or  a  sculptured  stone. 
The  preponderance  of  opinion  was  in  favour  of  a 
natural  phenomenon.  As  Dunbar  and  his  compan 
ions  were  the  first  of  the  thousands  to  see  the  giant 
at  Cardiff  they  were  plied  with  interrogatories  that 
night,  and  the  next,  without  end.  People  who  re 
jected  belief  in  the  integrity  of  the  exhibition  that 
was  now  being  made  of  the  giant  were  rapidly  being 
outnumbered  by  the  believers.  Dunbar,  who  at  the 
outset  was  a  bold  dissenter,  finally  settled  down  to 
saying  in  reply  to  requests  for  his  views: 

"When  that  man  walked,  the  earth  trembled." 

There  were  occasions  on  which  he  placed  more 
emphasis  on  the  word  "  when  "  than  seemed  neces 
sary  to  the  formulation  of  an  unbiassed  opinion. 


124  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

It  was  not  long  before  more  people  were  coming 
to  Salina  in  order  to  get  to  Cardiff  than  ever  came 
to  Salina  with  any  other  object  in  view.  The  con 
stant  travel  back  and  forth  wore  the  rough  road 
smooth,  and  the  letting  of  horses  and  carriages  for 
the  trip  superseded  salt-making  as  the  leading  in 
dustry  of  the  town.  Dunbar  himself  picked  up  a 
few  honest  dollars  in  carrying  strangers  to  the  scene 
of  the  discovery,  and  in  that  way  found  an  excuse 
for  repeated  visits  to  what  he  had  fallen  into  the 
habit  of  calling  the  "  giant  foundry." 

The  whole  aspect  of  the  Dewell  farm  had  under 
gone  a  change  in  a  few  days.  It  had  been  trans 
formed  into  a  little  village  by  itself,  quite  dwarfing 
in  the  briskness  of  the  trade  going  on  there  the  live 
liest  activity  that  Cardiff  proper,  situated  a  half  mile 
across  the  bottom  lands  of  the  picturesque  valley, 
had  ever  known.  Yet  the  one  hotel  in  Cardiff 
village  was  so  thronged  that  the  landlord  and  his 
family  went  to  a  neighbour's  to  stay.  There  was  no 
other  place  of  refuge  thereabouts  where  visitors 
who  wished  to  prolong  their  sojourn  beyond  the 
night  could  be  harboured.  These  were  the  learned 
men  from  the  colleges  and  scientific  associations, 
whose  inquiries  did  not  end  with  a  study  of  the 
giant's  noble  repose.  They  were  investigating  the 


THE  CARDIFF  GIANT.  125 

geoglogical  formations  of  the  Cardiff  valley,  ac 
quainting  themselves  with  the  history  of  the  water 
ways  in  that  region,  and  asking  a  thousand  and  one 
questions  of  the  graybeards  who  were  born  and 
raised  in  Cardiff.  In  their  train  were  a  few  news 
paper  correspondents,  who  stuck  to  the  scientists, 
instead  of  making  the  trip  to  and  from  Salina  every 
day,  in  the  hope  of  getting  first  news  of  something 
that  would  establish  beyond  doubt  the  theory  of 
petrifaction,  or  its  opposite. 

The  day  that  Dunbar  took  Robert  Hillyer,  of 
Harper  s  Weekly,  to  Cardiff  behind  Lady  Montres- 
sor,  there  were  so  many  visitors  to  the  Dewell  farm 
that  he  was  forced  to  hitch  his  horse  in  the  angle 
of  a  rail  fence  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant  from  the 
tent  which  hid  the  giant  from  vulgar  eyes.  Led 
by  Dunbar,  the  young  artist  dodged  in  and  out 
among  the  arriving  and  departing  conveyances  to 
the  gate  of  Dewell's  dooryard,  across  which  but  a 
few  steps  was  the  flapped  opening  to  the  tent, 
where  payment  of  fifty  cents  a  head  admitted  the 
visitors.  Hundreds  of  men  and  women  were  loiter 
ing  about,  stamping  their  feet  to  counteract  the  ef 
fects  of  the  wintry  air,  or  more  forcibly  repelling  it 
by  drinking  hot  coffee  at  the  counters  of  the  shanty- 
like  structures  which  had  sprung  up  along  the 


126  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

roadside  where  refreshment,  liquid  and  solid,  was 
being  dispensed.  The  attendants  of  these  establish 
ments  were  boisterously  crying  their  wares,  in  dis 
cordant  rivalry  with  the  shouts  of  vendors  of  photo 
graphs,  who  seemed  to  infest  the  place  like  vermin. 
"  Here  you  have  Cardiff  Giant  sandwiches  !  "  was 
the  burden  of  one  exclamation  ;  "  Get  the  only 
true  picture  of  the  Giant  !  "  was  its  reverberation. 
Variations  of  these  cries,  more  than  could  be 
counted,  came  from  all  sides  in  efforts  to  dispose  of 
all  commodities  that  hungry,  thirsty  and  curious 
humanity  could  possibly  want. 

Standing  'round — no  other  description  so  well 
accords  with  the  picturesquely  grotesque  fact — 
standing  'round  were  groups  of  two  and  three  On- 
ondaga  Indians  from  the  State  Reservation,  a  couple 
of  miles  away,  only  the  squaws  among  whom  sug 
gested  anything  of  aboriginal  origin.  Their  petti 
coats  of  coloured  flannel  falling  to  the  knees  only 
showed  that  beneath  they  wore  trousers  and  mocca 
sins,  both  fantastically  embroidered  in  beads,  while 
over  their  heads  and  shoulders  they  wore  shawls 
of  gayest  patterns  from  Scottish  looms.  Except 
for  the  unmistakably  strong  faces  of  their  tribe,  and 
the  peculiar  pose  of  inborn  indolence  which  marked 
them  in  motion  and  in  rest,  these  braves  of  the  Six 


THE  CARDIFF  GIANT.  127 

Nations  added  no  element  of  individuality  to  the 
picture  that  it  did  not  derive  from  the  presence 
of  the  hardy  farm-folk  passing  to  and  fro  in  Stub 
Dewell's  yard.  An  Indian  mother  carrying  her 
papoose  on  her  back  in  a  swaddle  slung  around  her 
forehead  was  really  the  only  touch  of  realism  which 
connected  the  past  and  present  in  the  manner  of 
Beadle's  Dime  Novels,  which  every  boy  in  Cardiff, 
and  probably  some  of  their  elders,  held  in  such 
tender  regard. 

"  Yes,  siree,  there  you  see  the  noble  red  man  of 
the  forest,"  Dunbar  said,  in  reply  to  a  question  from 
Hillyer.  "  Too  lazy  to  steal,  too  proud  to  work,  they 
turn  their  backs  on  civil-i-sation  except  on  circus 
day,  when  they  come  to  town  in  all  their  glory  and 
go  back  to  their  wigwams  filled  with  pale  face  fire- 
water." 

"  They  like  the  barbaric  splendour  of  the  circus — 
we  are  all  more  or  less  savage  in  that  respect,  Mr. 
Dunbar." 

"  I  don't  know  what  they  like,  mister — it  ain't  the 
circus,  for  they  never  go — they  jest  come  to  town 
on  circus  day,  jest  come  to  town.  I'll  bet  you  a 
bottle  of  wine  not  one  of  'em's  seen  the  giant  since 
they've  been  takin'  toll  at  the  tent.  They  don't  go 
to  the  circus." 


128  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

Inquiry  of  the  doortender  justified  Dunbar's 
sportive  judgment  of  the  Indian  nature.  Not  an 
Onondaga  had  passed  within  the  enclosure  to  see 
for  himself  if  the  stone  man  had  once  drowned  the 
mighty  thunders  in  their  tongue  or  made  their  foe 
reel  under  the  fearful  descent  of  his  majestic  toma 
hawk.  They  simply  stood  'round.  There  was 
bustle  in  the  scene,  but  the  noble  red  man  was  not 
part  of  it. 

The  spectacle  presented  apparently  interested  the 
young  artist  more  than  did  the  giant,  and  as  of  next 
importance,  he  asked  to  be  introduced  to  Stub  Dew- 
ell.  With  what  struck  Dunbar  as  marvellous  dex 
terity  Hillyer  sketched  the  scene  inside  and  out 
side  the  tent,  and  unknown  to  the  discoverer  of  the 
giant,  made  a  drawing  that  handed  his  physiognomy 
down  to  fame.  In  the  cosmopolitan  throng  the 
artist  picked  out  odd  types  of  rural  life,  and  placed 
them  as  a  contrast  beside  the  representatives  of  the 
higher  civilisation  of  the  cities.  He  did  not,  of 
course,  miss  a  sketch  of  Dunbar,  who  religiously 
preserved  the  copy  of  the  periodical  containing  it 
to  show  the  most  truthful  likeness  he  ever  had. 

"  It's  going  to  take  a  week  or  two  to  get  the  meat 
out  of  this  thing,"  Hillyer  said  to  Dunbar  as  they 
took  up  their  way  for  home  that  afternoon,  "and  if 


THE  CARDIFF  GIANT.  129 

you  haven't  anything  better  to  do,  Mr.  Dunbar,  I 
want  to  have  you  come  out  with  me  next  time." 

"While  the  light  holds  out  to  burn,"  Dunbar 
made  answer,  "the  vilest  sinner  may  re-turn." 

It  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  Dunbar  and  Hillyer 
had  things  in  common  in  their  make-up.  The  young 
artist  sat  up  until  midnight  with  Dunbar  at  the 
eating-house. 

"  There's  not  two  of  his  kind  in  all  the  world," 
thought  Hillyer  as  he  turned  out  the  gas  in  his 
room  at  the  Salina  House. 

"  I  wonder  what's  become  of  Lull,"  was  Dunbar's 
last  drowsy  thought  as  he  lapsed  into  unconscious 
ness  on  his  pillow. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

FAST   FRIENDS. 

THE  signs  did  not  fail  in  the  case  of  Lewis  Dunbar 
and  Robert  Hillyer.  They  were  fast  friends  in  a 
week.  Although  the  Salina  House  never  before  had 
as  many  famous  autographs  on  its  registry  at  one 
time,  signed  by  men  of  note  who  had  been  brought 
from  far  and  near  by  the  loadstone  at  Cardiff,  Dun- 
bar  found  it  more  to  his  liking  to  spend  his  evenings 
at  the  eating-house  in  company  with  the  young  artist, 
and  such  others  as  knew  no  warmth  as  genial  as 
abided  within  the  compass  of  his  smile.  More  than 
once  emissaries  from  the  hostelry  had  waited  on 
Dunbar  to  urge  him  to  come  over  and  meet  some 
distinguished  guest,  and  as  he  did  not  always  yield 
to  these  gentle  persuasions,  the  distinguished  guest 
was  obliged  to  take  the  initiative.  The  parable  of 
Mahomet  and  the  mountain  was  never  better  sym 
bolised. 

It  was  agreed  among  Dunbar's  cronies  that  he  had 
made  no  mistake  in  showing  so  much  favour  for  Hill 
yer.  They  all  liked  him.  He  fitted  in.  On  that 


FAST  FRIENDS.  131 

point  there  was  absolute  acquiescence,  and  it  meant 
a  great  deal,  for  every  man  who  came  that  way  did 
not  meet  the  requirement.  As  young  as  the  young, 
est  of  the  little  circle,  Hillyer's  years  had  been  so 
prolific  of  experience  that  he  sympathetically  ad 
justed  himself  to  their  companionship,  without  let 
ting  down  the  bars  to  a  degree  of  familiarity  not  fully 
justified  by  longer  association.  He  had  been  pretty 
much  all  over  the  world,  having  always  enjoyed  the 
advantages  of  ample  means,  and  without  abusing  any 
of  them  to  the  point  of  making  his  habits  vices, 
had  a  sensible  human  love  for  most  of  the  crea 
ture  comforts.  The  bouquet  of  a  good  wine,  the  fla 
vour  of  a  good  cigar,  the  taste  of  a  good  dish,  not  to 
omit  the  bloom  of  a  lovely  cheek,  were  of  the  things 
he  fancied  most. 

"  Uncle  Lew  is  as  good  a  judge  of  a  man  as  he  is 
of  a  horse,"  was  the  succinct  way  in  which  Dunbar's 
estimate  of  his  new-made  friend  was  summed  up. 

"  This  young  pencil-pusher  is  a  bully  boy  with  a 
glass  eye,"  was  Dunbar's  verbal  record  of  his  admir 
ation. 

The  real  secret  of  Dunbar's  sudden  liking  for  Hill- 
yer  was  in  no  respect  physiological.  As  a  matter  of 
fact  it  was  purely  geographical.  The  moment  he 
found  the  young  artist's  home  was  in  Brooklyn,  his 


132  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

heart  went  out  to  him  with  a  warmth  of  interest  that 
bothered  Hillyer  himself.  Lewis  Dunbar  did  not 
wear  his  heart  upon  his  sleeve.  For  him  nothing 
was  easier  than  to  put  himself  alongside  his  fellow 
man,  on  terms  of  lively  sociability,  but  in  the  giving 
of  his  friendship  he  was  apt  to  be  more  or  less 
deliberate.  In  his  wanderings  he  had  learned  to 
distinguish  a  hazard  from  a  certainty.  "  Never 
bank  on  another  man's  game,"  he  would  say,  and 
the  warning  applied  as  much  to  the  bestowal  of 
his  friendships  as  to  the  making  of  his  money  ven 
tures.  But  to  Hillyer  he  was  drawn  by  an  impulse 
that  he  felt  powerless  to  resist,  and  he  marvelled  at 
it. 

"You  live  in  Brooklyn,  eh?"  Dunbar  had  said. 
"  The  garden  spot  of  the  earth.  I  can  tie  to  you, 
young  fellow,  and  don't  you  forget  it." 

This  enthusiasm  over  his  place  of  residence  was 
at  first  an  unfathomable  mystery  to  the  artist. 
Brooklyn  was  not  invariably  in  the  good  books  of 
others  than  residents  of  that  city.  In  fact  most 
people  who  knew  Hillyer,  and  did  not  live  there,  too, 
wondered  why  he  should  be  camping  out  in  Brook 
lyn  when  Elysium  was  at  hand  on  the  opposite 
shores  of  the  East  River. 
,  The  artist  was  not  left  to  grope  in  the  dark  over- 


FAST  FRIENDS.  133 

long.  Dunbar  having  drawn  from  him  a  picture  of 
his  home,  where  he  lived  with  a  widowed  mother 
and  two  sisters,  Dunbar's  bond  of  affection  for  Brook 
lyn  came  to  be  revealed.  He  told  Hillyer  more  of 
his  own  life  than  he  had  ever  told  to  any  man.  Of 
his  daughter,  his  love  for  her  and  his  hopes  for  her 
future,  he  spoke  as  freely  as  ever  did  an  indulgent 
father. 

Hillyer  knew  the  Convent  of  St.  Mary's  as  well  as 
he  did  the  Post-Office  building.  The  gilded  cross 
was  in  plain  sight  of  his  own  home.  Dunbar  felt  the 
blood  tingle  in  his  finger  tips  when  he  heard  this. 
There  was,  indeed,  a  tradition  in  Hillyer's  family 
that  the  cross  was  in  a  way  linked  with  his  own 
destiny.  The  day  he  was  born,  in  the  month  of 
June,  the  glint  of  the  sunlight  on  one  of  the  lustrous 
arms  shone  directly  across  a  wooded  park  into  the 
very  room  where  joy  and  anguish  mingled  on  a 
mother's  brow.  To  her  it  was  an  omen  that  her  baby 
son  would  fight  the  battle  of  life  beneath  its  sacred 
shelter. 

"  My  mother,"  said  Hillyer,  "  is  a  blue  Presbyte 
rian,  and  on  that  account  not  very  much  interested  in 
what  the  Catholics  are  doing  in  the  world,  but  since 
I  was  a  year  old  my  birthday  never  passes  without 
a  bouquet  being  sent  to  the  convent  in  her  name. 


134  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

It's  strange  that  in  all  these  years,  as  far  as  I  know, 
we  have  never  known  an  inmate  of  the  convent. 
One  of  the  sisters,  the  Mother  Superior,  I  suppose, 
always  acknowledges  the  bouquet  in  a  note,  but 
that's  all.  I'm  glad  to  know  about  your  daughter. 
I'll  have  my  sisters  call  on  her.  You  must  give 
me  a  letter  allowing  the  privilege,  Mr.  Dunbar.  I 
suppose  the  usual  rule  in  convents  requires  some  sort  ' 
of  introduction." 

Dunbar  was  a  clumsy  hand  at  letter-writing,  but 
before  Hillyer  returned  to  the  Salina  House  that 
night,  he  was  in  possession  of  the  word  of  introduc 
tion.  The  artist's  enlistment  of  sisterly  interest  in 
Grace  Dunbar  went  forward  by  the  next  mail. 

Dunbar  was  no  longer  thinking  of  the  absence  of 
Lull.  He  would  have  banished  the  Cardiff  Giant 
from  his  mind  altogether,  perhaps,  so  completely 
had  paternal  longings  taken  possession  of  him,  had 
not  Hillyer  called  on  him  for  occasional  fulfilment 
of  his  promise  to  drive  him  out  to  Cardiff.  It  was 
not  easy  to  be  even  indifferently  indifferent  to  the 
reigning  sensation.  As  big  as  he  was  the  Cardiff 
Giant  was  in  everybody's  mouth.  What  is  more, 
he  was  being  swallowed  whole.  It  was  almost  an 
unpardonable  sin  to  array  oneself  against  the  theory 
of  petrifaction.  Thousands  stood  daily  above  the 


FAST  FRIENDS.  135 

pit  on  the  Dewell  farm  in  mutely  pious  wonder. 
The  sole  question  at  issue  that  remained  to  be 
seriously  considered  was  whether  public  morals  did 
not  demand  that  the  antedeluvian  Titan  be  draped. 
For  a  day  or  two  this  concession  to  prudish  opinion 
was  extended  by  the  exhibitors,  but  in  the  name  of 
a  broader  civilisation  this  veil  of  prurient  invention 
was  presently  once  and  for  all  discarded. 

And  the  dollars  kept  rolling  in  in  a  golden  stream. 

At  the  Salina  House  the  earning  capacity  of  the 
giant  was  being  discussed  the  last  night  Hillyerwas 
to  be  in  Salina.  The  artist  had  confessed  to  Dunbar 
that  he  had  unnecessarily  protracted  his  stay  in  the 
town  a  bit,  the  pictorial  availability  of  the  discov 
ery  at  Cardiff  having  been  exhausted  at  the  end  of 
a  week.  The  giant's  reign  on  earth  had  now  reached 
its  tenth  day.  Hillyer,  besides  sending  on  to  his 
paper  a  number  of  finished  drawings,  was  taking 
back  note-books  filled  with  sketches  which  he  was 
satisfied  he  would  find  use  for  unless  public  interest 
in  the  giant  flagged.  Dunbar  had  been  looking  at 
this  scratch  work  in  the  artist's  room,  while  the 
latter  collected  his  belongings  into  his  portmanteau 
for  the  morrow's  return. 

"  Not  a  cent  less  than  a  thousand  dollars  a  day," 
Dunbar  heard  a  voice  say  as  they  came  down  the 
stairs  together. 


136  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

"  That's  Lull,"  said  Dunbar,  stopping  before  he 
opened  the  door  of  the  hotel  office.  "  I  thought  it 
about  time  for  the  big  casino  to  come  out  of  the 
deck.  Hold  up,  Hillyer." 

Dunbar  was  holding  the  artist  by  the  arm  outside 
the  door. 

"  Cut  the  receipts  down  to  half  that,  say  five  hun 
dred  a  day,  and  make  allowances  for  bad  weather," 
Lull  was  saying,  "  and  you  have  a  business  worth  one 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year  while  it 
lasts." 

"  But  they  can't  keep  up  that  gait  out  there  at 
Cardiff.  If  to-day's  snow  keeps  on  the  giant'll  be  a 
dead  cock  in  the  pit,"  put  in  Capt.  Bower. 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  Lull  continued,  "  but  they 
told  me  there  to-day  the  giant  was  going  to  be 
brought  into  town  right  off — just  as  soon  as  they 
can  find  a  good  place  to  show  in." 

An  hour  later,  Lull  having  in  the  meantime  got 
rid  of  the  travel  stains  which  came  of  his  drive  to 
Cardiff  and  back,  he  confided  to  Dunbar  that  he 
had  offered  to  look  around  town  for  a  suitable  place 
of  exhibition.  He  had  taken  pity,  he  said,  on  the 
countrymen  who  had  the  giant  in  charge,  and  did 
not  seem  half  to  appreciate  what  a  gold  mine  they 
had  struck.  It  would  be  a  charitable  deed,  he 


FAST  FRIENDS.  137 

thought,  to  help  them  out,  and  he  would  not  take 
it  amiss  if  Dunbar  would  lend  a  hand. 

''You've  seen  the  giant,  of  course,  Dunbar;  and 
what  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"  Think  of  him  ?  Think  of  him  ?  "  Dunbar  cried, 
putting  his  left  hand  on  his  hip  and  stretching  the 
right  upward  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees. 
"  That  fellow  came  over  in  the  Ark.  He  roamed 
the  green  wood  before  the  Erie  was  dug.  Shouldn't 
be  sur-prised  if  he  knew  George  Washing-ton.  Any 
way,  for  a  yard-wide-all-wool-and-watershrunk-in-the- 
piece  show  I'll  go  my  bottom  dollar  on  the  giant." 

"  Do  you  know,  Dunbar,  that  I  don't  know  what 
to  think  about  it  myself,"  Lull  went  on  to  say,  "  but 
I  guess  the  best  way's  to  believe  the  college  men. 
I  see  they  say  the  giant's  undoubtedly  a  petrifaction. 
If  it  isn't,  it's  a  mighty  old  statue,  and  a  great 
curiosity  anyway.  I  wish  we  owned  it,  Dunbar; 
we'd  make  ourselves  comfortable  for  the  rest  of 
our  lives,  if  we  did." 

Lull  did  not  end  his  talk  in  good  wishes.  It  had 
occurred  to  him,  he  said,  since  the  owner  of  the 
giant  was  to  bring  it  to  town,  that  the  person  of  all 
persons  in  this  world  who  should  show  it  was  Dun- 
bar.  Then  he  set  to  wondering  whether  it  would 
not  be  possible  to  bring  his  old  friend — he  thus 


138  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

designated  Dunbar — into  the  management  of  the 
exhibition.  It  must  be  obvious,  he  threw  out  as  a 
casual  observation,  that  such  a  man  as  Stub  Dewell 
could  not  carry  the  thing  through  as  an  enterprise 
so  deserving  of  skilful  direction  demanded.  It 
ought  to  be  glory  enough  for  Dewell  to  be  pointed 
out  as  the  owner  of  the  farm  where  the  Cardiff  Giant 
was  exhumed,  especially  as  the  discovery  bid  fair  to 
turn  his  stubble  land  into  an  Eldorado. 

"I'd  give  a  great  deal  to  get  my  hands  on  the 
giant,  Dunbar,"  Lull  added,  as  if  the  possibility 
was  on  his  mind. 

The  two  men  were  standing  apart  from  the 
evening's  company  in  the  hotel  office  during  the 
conversation.  What  they  were  saying  was  pitched 
in  a  key  low  enough  to  make  their  voices  inaudible 
to  the  nearest  person  in  the  room.  Dunbar  was 
not  contributing  his  usual  share  to  the  conversation. 
He  repeatedly  nodded  his  head,  but  acknowledged 
afterward  to  Hillyer,  to  whom  he  told  the  substance 
of  Lull's  suggestions,  that  he  was  actually  stumped 
for  words  to  guide  the  talk  to  a  conclusion. 

It  is  true,  Dunbar  did  plump  this  question  at 
Lull,  as  if  he  meant  to  knock  him  down  with  a  stout 
cudgel : 

"  You've  got  Stub  Dewell  down  fine.  You  knew 
him  before  ?  " 


FAST  FRIENDS.  139 

"  But,"  Dunbar  recounted  subsequently  to  Hill 
yer,  "  he  never  turned  a  hair.  He  jest  set  me  back 
in  the  race  for  runnin'.  I  was  too  fast,  but  I  tell 
you  one  thing,  you  can't  fool  your  uncle."  And 
Dunbar's  forefinger  went  to  the  point  of  his  nose  and 
his  right  eye  drooped  to  a  suggestive  wink. 

With  their  heads  together  over  at  the  eating- 
house  Dunbar  and  Hillyer  settled  down  to  the  be 
lief  that  Ephraim  Lull  knew  more  than  he  was  tell 
ing.  Whatever  it  was,  he  was  seemingly  inclined 
to  divide  his  confidence  with  Dunbar.  Everything 
pointed  that  way.  Small  wonder  Hillyer  was  keen 
for  an  unravelling  of  the  mystery,  and  an  exposure 
of  what  he  was  already  calling  the  humbuggery  of 
the  Cardiff  Giant,  if  such  a  thing  were  possible  as  to 
connect  the  visits  of  Lull  prior  to  the  discovery 
with  the  event  itself.  To  a  certain  extent  Dunbar's 
ambition  to  render  the  world  a  like  service  was 
readily  stirred  by  the  young  artist.  Yet  Dunbar 
understood  from  every  phase  of  Lull's  circumlocu 
tion  that  there  was  hope  of  reward  for  him  in  a 
fruition  of  Lull's  plans. 

Hillyer  was  on  the  point  of  indefinitely  postpon 
ing  his  departure  from  Salina,  as  planned  for  the 
following  day,  but  finally  adhered  to  his  programme, 
with  the  single  modification,  that  instead  of  promis- 


140  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

ing  a  return  visit  at  some  remotely  future  time,  he 
now  fixed  it  with  definiteness.  In  the  meantime 
neither  he  nor  Dunbar  was  to  lisp  a  syllable  to  a 
living  soul  touching  the  suspicion  possessing  them. 
They  were  to  watch  and  wait. 

Dunbar  was  glad  enough — more  than  he  felt  it 
would  be  gracious  to  make  manifest — that  the  artist 
was  to  spend  a  week  or  two  at  home  in  Brooklyn. 
It  did  not  occur  to  Dunbar  that  Hillyer  might  him 
self  offer  the  polite  attentions  previously  assigned 
to  his  sisters;  nor  did  Hillyer  think  of  doing  such 
a  thing.  The  subject  was  mentioned,  of  course,  by 
the  two  men,  but  with  less  heartiness,  it  struck 
Dunbar,  than  the  artist  had  shown  at  the  beginning, 
or  as  he  recalled,  before  the  antecedent  relations 
of  the  Cardiff  Giant  had  absorbed  Hillyer.  It  was 
some  consolation  to  Dunbar  that  Hillyer's  good 
bye  was  accompanied  with  a  welcome  promise  of  a 
return. 

"  I  shall  have  some  news  of  your  daughter,  Mr. 
Dunbar,  from  my  sisters,  and  I  hope  you  will  have 
some  for  me  from  our  mysterious  friend." 

"  Even  trade  ;  nuthin'  to  boot ;  it's  a  go,"  Dun- 
bar  answered. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   BRIGHT   SIDE. 

NOTHING  had  ever  happened  in  Salina  to  excite 
its  population  as  did  the  events  of  the  next  few 
days.  The  Cardiff  Giant  was  coming  to  town. 

Through  the  kindly  offices  of  Ephraim  Lull  a  va 
cant  store  fronting  on  the  principal  square  of  Salina 
was  selected,  and  Stub  Dewell  had  come  in  to  sign 
the  lease,  and  make  the  first  payment  down,  which 
he  did  from  a  roll  of  bills,  the  ponderous  size  of 
which  was  variously  described  in  the  day's  gossip 
as  equalling  the  circumference  of  an  oyster  keg  or  a 
telegraph  pole.  As  the  Cardiff  farmer  walked  about 
town,  he  was  well-nigh  as  much  a  subject  of  popular 
curiosity  as  the  giant  had  proved.  A  man  less 
modest  than  Dewell  would  have  had  his  head  turned. 

Strangely  enough  Lull  was  not  conspicuously  in 
evidence  in  these  transactions,  nor  did  he  stay  to 
witness  the  removal  of  the  fossil  man  from  its  sub 
terranean  pit  in  Cardiff  to  its  elevated  station  in 
Salina.  Dunbar  naturally  marvelled  at  this. 

"  Lyin'  low,  I  guess,"  he  said  to  himself. 


142  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

This  comment  on  Lull's  ulterior  designs,  what 
ever  they  might  be,  was  not  altogether  unjustified. 
Before  leaving  Salina  Lull  had  sought  out  Dunbar, 
and  with  more  directness  than  had  hitherto  charac 
terised  his  communications  had  told  the  eating- 
house  keeper  in  so  many  words  if  the  giant  did  not 
lose  its  drawing  power  when  brought  to  town,  he 
proposed  to  get  hold  of  an  interest  in  it,  with  a  view 
to  taking  it  through  the  country,  and,  eventually  to 
Europe.  Lull  was  at  pains  to  impress  on  Dunbar's 
mind  that  when  the  show  business  was  discussed  by 
them  a  few  months  before,  he  never  thought  so 
favourable  an  opportunity  for  a  display  of  ability  in 
that  line  would  appear  like  magic  right  under  his 
nose.  Then  Lull  asked  bluntly,  whether  Dunbar 
would  join  him  in  the  enterprise,  he  to  act  as  manager 
and  Dunbar  to  do  the  talking  at  the  show.  As  to 
the  financial  end  of  the  arrangement,  he  said,  that 
would  be  made  very  attractive. 

After  this  interview  Dunbar  was  left  in  no  doubt 
that  Lull  was  "  in  on  the  ground  floor,"  although 
every  word  uttered  was  guardedly  put,  to  make  it 
appear  that  Lull  was,  up  to  the  present,  only  cal 
culating  in  prospective. 

"  It's  too  big  a  thing  to  be  handled  by  a  farmer," 
he  said.  "  It's  a  gold  mine  if  worked  right,  and  it'll 


THE  BRIGHT  SIDE.  143 

take  brains  to  do  it.  After  we  see  how  the  giant 
catches  hold  when  it's  brought  to  town  we'll  know 
its  value  better.  Then  you'll  hear  from  me." 

This  was  Lull's  assurance,  and  on  the  strength  of 
it  Dunbar  set  down  in  as  good  English  as  he  could 
command  in  a  letter  to  Hillyer  a  reassertion  of  his 
earnest  belief  that  they  were  not  far  wrong  in  their 
suspicions  that  Lull's  connection  with  the  discovery 
of  the  giant  antedated  that  event.  This  expression 
of  belief  was  of  sufficient  importance,  it  seems,  to  in 
duce  Hillyer  immediately  to  telegraph  Dunbar  to 
come  to  New  York.  "  Come  at  once  "  were  the 
words  urging  the  journey  on  him.  It  was  hardly  nec 
essary  to  have  gone  to  this  trouble,  for  Dunbar  was 
only  too  anxious  to  respond.  During  the  past  year 
he  had  invented  many  excuses  on  his  own  account  for 
going  to  New  York,  excuses  he  offered  the  Mother 
Superior  at  the  convent  as  if  it  were  incumbent  on 
him  to  say  anything  save  that  he  desired  to  see 
Grace.  These  trips  he  had  sandwiched  between 
three  days,  and  had  gone  and  returned,  as  a  rule, 
before  his  friends  missed  him  ;  or  if  they  did  he 
seldom  deigned  to  explain  his  movements — in  fact, 
never  did  more  than  remark  that  he  had  seen  his 
daughter  and  found  her  happy  in  her  new  home. 
In  this  respect,  at  least,  he  fell  short  of  his  ac 
customed  frankness  of  speech. 


144  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

It  was  while  Dunbar  was  away  that  the  Cardiff 
Giant  was  brought  to  town.  Rube  Deals,  the  house- 
mover,  the  safe-mover,  the  heavy-lifter  of  Salina, 
was  the  hero  of  the  exploit,  for  it  was  to  him  the 
work  was  assigned,  and  he  was  obliged  to  bring  into 
requisition  new  tackle  and  new  skill  to  accomplish 
the  task.  When  he  had  safely  landed  the  great 
mass  of  stone  at  the  place  of  exhibition  he  was 
thought  to  have  performed  wonders.  The  removal 
took  place  at  night,  much  to  the  disappointment  of 
the  thousands  of  people,  who  had  hoped  for  a  gra 
tuitous  sight  of  the  giant  during  the  transfer.  As 
it  was,  the  passage  from  Cardiff  to  Salina  turned 
one  night  into  day,  every  farmhouse  en  route  show 
ing  lights  as  the  procession  of  wagons  went  slowly 
by.  It  looked  not  unlike  a  circus  caravan,  the  loaded 
derricks,  great  coils  of  rope,  piles  of  pulley-blocks 
and  similar  paraphernalia  making  a  more  formidable 
array  than  the  low-wheeled  truck  transporting  the 
giant  under  a  section  of  the  tent  which  had  sheltered 
it  from  wind  and  weather  at  the  Dewell  farm.  The 
fact  that  human  ingenuity  and  human  strength  were 
so  taxed  to  effect  the  removal  was  cited  as  indubi 
table  testimony  to  the  verity  of  the  discovery.  The 
fossil  man  could  never,  it  was  said,  have  been  de 
posited  at  Cardiff  without  having  attracted  notice, 


THE  BRIGHT  SIDE.  145 

and  in  all  the  country  round  there  was  no  one  who 
could  testify  to  ever  having  seen  unusual  things 
going  on  at  Stub  Dewell's  farm.  Everybody  agreed 
that  Rube  Beals  had  earned  the  thousand  dollars 
paid  him  for  bringing  the  giant  to  town. 

By  the  time  Dunbar  reached  New  York,  the 
papers  were  full  of  the  Cardiff  Giant.  The  corre 
spondents  were  making  the  wires  hum  once  the  wires 
were  easy  of  access.  By  invitation,  and  at  the  ex 
pense  of  the  exhibitor,  learned  men  were  visiting 
Salina  to  examine  the  giant  and  pronounce  upon  its 
genuineness.  Famous  names  without  number  were 
appearing  on  the  endorsements.  International  rep 
utations  were  staked  on  the  soundness  of  these 
favourable  opinions.  The  foremost  of  American 
sculptors,  after  a  special  view,  had  declared  that  if 
the  Cardiff  Giant  was  not  a  petrifaction,  it  was  a 
statue  from  a  master's  hand,  an  example  of  art  too 
ancient  to  admit  of  calculation.  So  it  went  from 
day  to  day.  Rube  Beals  said  the  giant  weighed  not 
less  than  two  tons.  It  began  to  look  as  if  it  would 
be  worth  its  weight  in  gold. 

This  was  the  stone  wall  of  evidence  against  which 
Dunbar  and  Hillyer  were  bold  enough  to  buck  their 
heads.  It  was  to  uphold  himself  in  an  adverse 
opinion  which  the  artist  had  communicated  to  his 


146  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

editor,  that  Dunbar  had  been  called  to  New 
York. 

"  Say,  younger,"  Dunbar  had  said  to  the  artist  at 
the  Astor  House  the  night  of  his  arrival,  when  they 
sat  down  to  dinner,  "  Lull's  got  the  joker  up  his  sleeve 
in  this  deal,  but  we  haven't  caught  him  stackin'  the 
cards  yet,  have  we  ?  Let's  feel  our  way.  Never 
get  down  more  hay  than  you  can  cock  up." 

"  But  he  wants  you  to  go  into  some  sort  of  part 
nership,  that's  plain,  and  if  you  lead  him  on  he  will 
tell  you  more.  It  looks  to  me  as  if  he  went  into 
the  deal  with  Dewell,  and  now  that  the  giant's 
turning  out  so  well,  is  sick  of  the  bargain  and  wants 
a  better  partner." 

"  Maybe,"  replied  Dunbar,  contemplatively. 
"  Lull  wasn't  loafin'  around  Salina  for  nuthin'  so 
long  before  they  started  the  giant  foundry.  Pre- 
haps  if  I  did  give  him  more  rope,  he'd  hang  him 
self,  but  he's  a  shrewd  one,  he  is,  and  no  mistake. 
But  I  don't  want  to  play  Hawkshaw  the  de-tective. 
It  kinder  goes  agin  my  grain." 

Hillyer  suddenly  made  up  his  mind  he  was  at 
tempting  to  use  his  friend  in  a  detestable  manner. 
In  his  enthusiasm  to  unfold  what  he  surmised  to  be 
the  mystery  of  the  Cardiff  Giant,  he  had  abused  the 
friendly  spirit  in  which  Dunbar  had  met  him,  and 


THE  BRIGHT  SIDE.  147 

he  was  heartily  ashamed  of  himself.  Dunbar  had 
exposed  a  new  phase  of  his  many-sided  character. 
In  proportion  to  the  way  he  reprobated  himself, 
Hillyer  increased  his  good  opinion  of  Dunbar.  So 
they  agreed  to  talk  no  more  of  the  matter  for  the 
present. 

"As  I  told  you  coming  down  in  the  stage," 
Hillyer  said,  "  my  sisters  saw  Miss  Grace  at  the 
convent,  and  have  invited  her  to  take  dinner  with 
them.  I  forgot  to  mention,  the  Mother  Superior 
seemed  very  pleased  to  have  her  come  to  us,  so  my 
sister  said.  The  sister  said — the  sister  at  the  con 
vent,  not  my  sister — the  sister  said  she  thought 
Miss  Grace  ought  to  see  more  of  the  world.  A  very 
sensible  sort  of  a  sister,  eh,  Uncle  Lew?  " 

The  artist  had  been  calling  his  friend  Uncle  Lew 
for  some  time. 

"The  nuns  are  all  right,  my  boy,"  was  Dunbar's 
rejoinder.  "  I  listen  when  they  talk.  The  head 
one  told  me  on  one  of  my  trips  down  last  summer 
somethin*  like  what  you've  been  sayin',  and  I 
haven't  kept  my  old  noddle  goin'  fornuthin'.  Say, 
Pro-fessor " — in  this  fashion  Dunbar  addressed 
Hillyer  when  it  was  his  wish  to  be  particularly 
deferential — "  where  can  I  find  some  of  those  folks 
who  hire  out  to  take  other  folks  to  London  and 


148  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

Paris  and  Rome  and  that  like  ?  You  know,  young 
man,  I  want  that  gal  of  mine  to  have  the  best,  and 
it  don't  matter  what  it  costs.  She'll  have  a  chance 
to  go  plumb  round  the  world  if  she  wants  to,  and 
if  there's  a  hole  through  the  middle  and  any  side 
trips,  why  that'll  be  part  of  the  voyage.  Pro-fessor, 
this  world's  not  much  better  than  a  shake-down, 
but  by  payin'  for  it  you  can  get  some  of  the  softer 
places  to  bunk  in,  and  I'm  locatin'  the  spots  as 
well  as  I  can  for  my  gal." 

Hillyer,  in  answer  to  the  inquiry  contained  in 
this  burst  of  paternal  feeling,  said  there  were 
several  firms  which  ticketed  and  conducted  Euro 
pean  tours,  and  provided  chaperonage  for  young 
girls  who  were  obliged  to  travel  alone.  If  Dunbar 
liked  he  would  give  the  matter  a  little  attention  and 
report  details  later,  an  offer  Dunbar  received  with 
pronounced  gladness. 

"  It  would  be  just  the  thing  to  send  Miss  Grace 
over  next  spring,  Uncle  Lew,"  Hillyer  said,  con 
tinuing  the  subject,  "  but  why  don't  you  go  with 
her?  My  mother  and  sisters  are  going,  and 
stranger  things  have  happened  than  that  I  should 
in  the  end  strike  camp  and  go,  too.  We  might  put 
in  a  little  time  together  there,  and  I  could  keep  you 
off  some  of  the  rocks." 


THE  BRIGHT  SIDE.  149 

"  Too  old,  my  boy,  too  old.  I've  got  B.  C.  on 
my  back.  Your  Uncle  Lew's  no  homebody,  but 
he  has  seen  about  his  share  of  the  wicked  world. 
Let  the  gal  go,  but  as  for  me,  I'm  nailed  down." 

"  Well,  we'll  see  how  things  turn  out,"  Hillyer 
said.  "  In  the  meantime  let's  plan  another  trip 
across  the  water — over  the  East  River  to  Brooklyn. 
No  date  was  fixed  for  the  day  Miss  Grace  was  to 
dine  with  us,  but  with  you  down  here  the  earlier 
the  better.  To-morrow  we  will  go  to  the  office  and 
talk  with  my  editor  about  the  giant.  I  want  him 
to  know  you,  Uncle  Lew,  even  if  we  can't  convince 
him  the  stone  man's  a  fraud.  That  won't  take 
long.  Then  what  do  you  say  to  dinner  at  my 
house  to-morrow  night,  if  Miss  Grace  can  come  ?  " 

"  Count  me  out,  my  boy,  count  me  out.  I'll  just 
grind  my  molars  here  at  the  Astor.  O,  I'll  make 
out,  I'll  make  out." 

"  Dig  out,  you  mean,  Uncle  Lew,  and  I  won't 
have  it.  You've  got  to  come  to  my  house.  My 
mother  and  the  girls  would  never  forgive  me  if  I 
didn't  bring  you.  I've  talked  you  up,  you  know." 

Dunbar  persisted  in  refusing.  Hillyer  urged 
without  avail.  He  finally  fixed  the  dinner  for  the 
following  evening,  and  said  that  if  Miss  Grace  was 
permitted  to  come  he  would  not  take  no  for  an 


150  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW 

answer.  Dunbar  said  nothing  would  budge  him, 
and  he  was  as  good  as  his  word,  for  Grace  Dunbar 
was  afforded  her  first  glimpse  of  the  world  unsup 
ported  by  her  father's  presence.  It  seemed  to  her 
the  light  would  blind  her.  The  simple  life  she  had 
been  leading  in  the  convent  was  hardly  the  prep 
aration  for  this  violent  experience.  If  the  gentle 
sisters  were  right,  every  act  of  whose  lives  in 
culcated  humility,  and  every  form  of  whose  ad 
monitions  frowned  on  display,  then  what  Grace 
Dunbar  saw  within  the  walls  of  the  Hillyer  home 
was  a  defiance  of  their  gracious  teaching.  Yet  her 
heart  leaped  with  joy,  even  when  it  trembled  most, 
to  find  herself  really  a  part  of  so  much  that  seemed 
to  her  gorgeous,  so  much  that  looked  grand,  so 
much  that  was  bright.  After  it  was  all  over,  and 
she  had  been  escorted  back  to  the  convent  by  the 
artist  and  his  younger  sister,  Beatrice  Hillyer,  she 
accused  herself  of  having  yielded  too  easily  to 
wordly  temptation.  Yet  she  thought,  and  the 
thought  was  sweet  beyond  measure,  that  as  far  re 
moved  as  were  the  lives  of  her  new  friends  from 
the  lives  of  the  convent  sisters,  love,  duty  and  de 
votion  were  seemingly  as  deeply  rooted  in  one 
home  as  in  the  other.  The  holy  teachings  of  the 
convent  were  no  more  strenuous  on  these  points 


THE  BRIGHT  SIDE.  151' 

than  they  were  evident  in  the  course  of  life,  as  she 
first  witnessed  it,  of  the  Hillyers.  But  the  same 
things  took  on  different  aspects  from  varying  en 
vironments.  Grace's  immurement  within  cloistered 
walls  had  not  lessened  her  powers  of  observation. 
For  the  time  being  they  may  have  limited  her 
initial  grasp  of  things,  but  she  was  too  much  like 
her  father  to  have  any  influence,  however  strong^ 
curtail  the  scope  of  her  natural  intuitions.  She 
was,  therefore,  confirmed  in  her  opinion  that  life 
might  be  good,  and  true,  and  beautiful,  in  the  holiest 
sense,  even  if  it  bore  little  or  no  likeness  to  that 
phase  of  it  which  predominated  at  St.  Mary's. 
Nevertheless  she  was  happy  to  be  told  by  Sister 
Tesianna,  her  favourite  at  the  convent,  that  this 
view  was  not  unlovely  or  sinful. 

"  Our  life,  my  child,"  the  sister  said,  "  is  the  best 
example  we  can  make  of  unworldliness.  But  people 
who  live  in  the  world,  dear,  cannot  do  as  we  do.  If 
they  live  righteously  and  do  kind  deeds  to  those 
less  fortunate,  their  enjoyment  of  brighter  things  is 
pleasing  in  the  sight  of  God,  no  doubt.  You  have 
shared  with  your  good  friends  what  they  have  to 
give.  That  is  well,  my  child.  You  will  learn  the 
application  of  our  wholesome  precepts  all  in  good 
time,  and  when  you  go  from  us,  will,  I  hope  and 


152  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

pray,  feel  the  lasting  influence  of  our  poor  teachings. 
Pray  God,  they  may  have  been  better.  I  think, 
child,  you  are  safe  from  the  woeful  sins  of  selfish 
ness,  sordid  greed  and,  as  wicked  as  anything,  pride. 
I'm  glad  to  have  you  see  the  brighter  side  of  the 
world,  and  am  glad  you  were  made  happy.  I  often 
wished  that  an  opportunity  had  come  sooner.  Are 
you  to  go  to  your  friends  again?" 

It  was  indeed  the  earnest  wish  of  these  friends 
that  she  should,  with  as  little  interval  as  possible. 
This  had  been  a  pressing  invitation,  and  it  was  con 
veyed  more  formally  to  the  Mother  Superior  in  a 
note  which  Mrs.  Hillyer  addressed  to  the  convent 
the  next  day. 

It  was  true  Grace  had  been  pained  by  the  ab 
sence  of  her  father,  especially  when  it  had  been 
made  plain  by  Mr.  Hillyer's  frequent  expressions  of 
regret  that  urging  on  him  had  not  been  spared. 
She  would  not  have  liked  Mr.  Hillyer  half  as  well 
had  he  not  shown  an  affection  for  her  father  that 
was  in  a  way  akin  to  her  own.  Then  again,  she 
thought,  why  should  he  not  ?  Who  could  know 
her  father  and  not  love  him  ?  Was  he  not  noble, 
and  gifted,  and  good,  O,  so  good  ?  Did  not  other 
men,  all  men  who  knew  him,  look  up  to  him  ?  Of 
this  Grace  was  not  quite  sure  from  personal  know- 


THE  BRIGHT  SIDE.  153 

ledge — she  was  true  enough  to  herself  to  admit  that 
—but  she  was  firm  in  the  belief  that  it  must  be  so. 
Surely  what  Robert  Hillyer  said  of  her  father  served 
to  build  up  the  ideal  father,  the  grandeur  of  whose 
character  filled  her  soul  with  filial  adoration.  Keen 
as  was  her  disappointment  that  he  could  not  be  with 
her  and  her  entertainers  that  night,  to  speak  for  and 
be  seen  for  himself,  she  felt  nothing  would  have 
kept  him  away  save  affairs  of  vaster  concern.  Of 
these  engrossing  cares  she  spoke  at  table  in  fervent 
echoes  of  Dunbar's  own  drolleries. 

"  My  father  has  so  much  to  do,  so  very  much," 
Grace  said,  "  he  never  knows  where  he  is  going  to 
be  the  next  day.  That's  why,  Mrs.  Hillyer,  we  don't 
have  a  home  in  Salina,  where  his  business  is,  or 
most  of  it.  But  he  says  I  shall  have  one  some  day, 
and  then  all  that  I've  lost  will  be  more  than  made 
up  to  me.  Just  as  if  I  didn't  know  what  he  was 
doing  is  for  the  best.  And  I'm  very  happy  at  St. 
Mary's  ;  the  sisters  are  so  good,  and  kind,  and  my 
studies  are  so  pleasant.  Yes,  I  am  very  happy." 

The  radiant  face  of  the  young  girl,  a  face  undeni 
ably  lovely  in  its  spirituelle  cast,  lighted  up  with 
the  fire  of  her  own  enthusiasm.  Out  of  her  eyes 
there  would  have  beamed  a  blaze  of  gladness,  Hill 
yer  thought  to  himself,  had  she  not  had  a  habit  of 


154  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

drooping  the  lids  at  just  the  most  tantalising  mo 
ments — a  facial  disorder  due  to  convent  training,  he 
thought,  yet  a  disorder  which  he  wondered  whether 
it  would  be  permissible  to  cure,  if  a  cure  were  im 
mediately  at  hand.  In  those  eyes,  too,  Hillyer  saw 
the  same  merry  light,  which,  more  than  anything 
else,  made  Lewis  Dunbar's  visage  dove-tail  into  his 
vocabulary. 

As  Beatrice  walked  back  home  with  her  brother 
from  the  convent,  after  leaving  Grace  at  the  door, 
it  was  agreed,  and  in  their  view  Mrs.  Hillyer  and 
her  eldest  daughter,  Anne,  later  coincided,  that  they 
had  not  misplaced  their  kindness. 

"She  is  a  continual  surprise  to  me,"  was  Hillyer's 
comment,  "  she  is  so  like  and  unlike  her  father. 
Confound  the  old  curmudgeon,  I  wish  he  had  come 
so  you  could  have  seen  them  together." 

"  Yes,  we  knew  you  have  taken  a  great  fancy  to 
Mr.  Dunbar,"  Mrs.  Hillyer  remarked,  putting  her 
arms  in  motherly  show  of  affection  about  her  son, 
"  but  it  needn't  be  shared  with  his  daughter,  though 
I  confess  to  have  wondered  how  a  man  of  just  such 
experiences  and — what  shall  I  say — business,  yes, 
business,  that  will  do — could  be  the  father  of  a  girl 
as  sweetly  mannered  as  Miss  Dunbar." 

"  O,  say  now,  mother,"  replied  the  artist,  "  have 


THE  BRIGHT  SIDE.  155 

I  painted  my  friend  in  such  disagreeable  colours?  I 
didn't  mean  to.  Do  you  suppose  I  would  have 
asked  him  here  to  be  with  us  if  I  didn't  think  his 
heart  was  in  the  right  place?" 

"  No,  Robert,  no  indeed,  only  I  do  not  forget,  as 
possibly  you  do,  once  in  a  while,  that  a  Bohemian 
estimate  of  manhood  doesn't  always  fit  the  usages 
of  home  life.  If  I  have  said  anything  which  reflects 
on  Mr.  Dunbar  you  must  take  the  blame,  for  you 
told  us,  you  know,  he  was  in  some  sort  of  a  queer 
business  in  Salina,  and  that  he  was  uncouth,  eccen 
tric,  and  had  actually  been  a  gambler  on  the  Missis 
sippi.  Didn't  you  tell  us  all  that,  my  son  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  all  I  knew  about  him,  of  course,  as  I 
was  in  duty  bound  to  do,  seeing  I  wished  him  to  be 
a  guest  here,  but  I  told  no  more  than  he  acknow 
ledged  himself,  and  a  man  who  tells  as  much  truth 
as  Mr.  Dunbar  is  not  very  full  of  guile,  I  can  tell 
you.  And — " 

"  And  on  the  strength  of  what  you  told  me," 
Mrs.  Hillyer  promptly  interrupted  to  say,  "  Mr. 
Dunbar  would  have  been  very  welcome,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  would  have  been  as  pleasant  a  person  to 
entertain  in  our  simple  way  as  was  his  daughter, 
who,  it  cannot  be  denied,  is  exceedingly  charming. 
She  shall  come  as  often  as  she  likes,  and  her  father, 


156  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

without  further  defence,  will  find  me  a  fond  mother 
having  unbounded  faith  in  her  son,  even  if  by  con 
tact  with  the  rough  world  he  has  grown  a  little 
liberal  in  his  views." 

By  this  time,  this  banter  was  enlivened  by  laugh 
ter  all  around,  and  Mrs.  Hillyer  was  emphasising 
her  reliance  on  her  son  in  the  oldest  fashioned  way. 

"  But  Grace  talks  of  Mr.  Dunbar  as  if  he  were 
some  man  of  eminence,"  said  Beatrice.  "  Does 
she  not  know  he  is  just  whatever  Robert  says  he  is, 
a  restaurant  keeper,  or  something,  in  a  country 
town  ?  Did  you  see  how  her  eyes  glistened  when 
she  spoke  of  him  ?  " 

"  I  loved  her  for  it,  my  dear,"  was  Mrs.  Hillyer's 
reply,  with  just  the  suggestion  of  motherly  reproval 
in  what  she  said. 

"  O,  so  did  I,  too,"  Beatrice  made  haste  to  add, 
"  but  I  wondered  if  she  was  being  deceived  by  her 
father.  I  began  to  think  just  now,  not  at  the  time, 
for  then  I  didn't  know  what  a  truth-teller  Mr. 
Dunbar  was — " 

"  Come  now,  sister,"  the  artist  said,  "  that's  a 
slap  at  me." 

"  Well,  you  said  he  told  more  truth  than  the  rest 
of  the  men,  didn't  you  ?  Didn't  he,  mother  ?  " 

"  Yes,    I    did,  and   joking  aside    I    meant    every 


THE  BRIGHT  SIDE.  157 

word  of  it.  But  I  guess  Betty  here  has  the  secret. 
I  see  where  Mr.  Dunbar  is  hiding  in  the  background 
for  the  sake  of  his  daughter.  He  is  perfectly 
wrapped  up  in  her,  would  do  anything  for  her,  and 
may  be  playing  a  trifle  on  her  convent  innocence. 
I'm  not  quite  sure,  nor  do  I  care,  for  if  he  is,  so 
much  the  better  father  he  is." 

"  We're  not  talking  about  fathers,  are  we  ? " 
Anne  asked  saucily.  "  I  thought  the  conversation 
had  drifted  around  to  truth-tellers." 

"Well,  children  all,"  Mrs.  Hillyer  said  by  way  of 
amendment,  "  let's  agree  to  change  the  subject  to 
pillows  and  coverlids  and  good  nights." 

Abner,  the  butler,  who  turned  out  the  lights  as 
the  family  went  up  stairs,  still  with  cheery  words 
on  their  lips,  said  to  himself  : 

"  It's  a  happy  family ;  it's  a  very  happy  family." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

HORSE  TALK. 

DUNBAR  was  punctually  on  hand  the  following 
morning  to  keep  the  appointment  they  had  made 
at  the  publishing  house,  and  in  short  order  they 
were  admitted  to  an  audience  with  Hillyer's  editor, 
in  a  building  which  seemed  to  Dunbar  to  be  con 
structed  of  books,  instead  of  bricks  and  mortar. 
Books,  books,  books,  in  barricades,  loomed  up  in 
front  of  the  artist  and  his  companion  as  they  went 
up  the  stairs. 

"  Climbing  the  tree  of  knowledge,  I  guess,"  was 
Dunbar's  whispered  remark,  for  he  really  seemed 
to  be  awed  by  the  sight  of  so  much  wisdom  between 
covers. 

Mr.  Fletcher,  the  editor,  knew  enough  about 
Dunbar  and  the  mission  which  brought  him  to  New 
York,  to  make  possible  a  rapid  disposition  of  or 
dinary  formalities.  Hillyer  had  looked  out  for 
that.  He  had  also  warned  Mr.  Fletcher  if  he 
wanted  to  see  his  country  visitor  at  the  very  best 
he  must  let  the  spirit  of  fun  in  the  man  move 


HORSE  TALK.  159 

him.  As  to  the  Cardiff  Giant,  and  the  likelihood  of 
securing  evidence  of  fraud  in  its  origin,  after  a 
short  talk  Mr.  Fletcher  thought  it  would  be  well 
worth  the  while  of  the  firm  to  take  up  the  clue,  and 
to  that  duty  he  promptly  assigned  the  young 
artist.  This  was  after  Dunbar  had  made  known  to 
him  the  basis  of  his  suspicions. 

"You  are  a  keen  judge  of  human  nature,  Mr. 
Dunbar,"  Mr.  Fletcher  remarked,  "  and,  without 
doing  anything  that  would  savour  of  betrayal  of  this 
man  Lull,  can  be  a  material  aid  to  Mr.  Hillyer.  I 
think  as  he  does  ;  the  giant  is  turning  out  to  be  so 
profitable,  there  will  be  a  disagreement  over  the  ill- 
gotten  gains  between  Lull  and  Dewell,  and  you 
know  honest  men  get  their  dues  when  thieves  fall 
out." 

"  But  get  your  due-bag  ready  and  turn  thief  when 
honest  men  fall  out  if  swag  is  what  you're  after," 
was  Dunbar's  turn  of  the  proverb.  "  And  has  it 
ever  come  to  you  that  if  you  sit  around  waitin'  for 
thieves  to  fall  out  you'll  never  get  rich  'nough  to  be 
honest?  " 

Mr.  Fletcher  admitted  he  had  been  deceived  by 
an  old  saw,  and  he  chuckled  over  the  revelation. 

"  I  wanted  to  hear  your  story  of  Lull's  apparent 
interest  in  the  Cardiff  Giant  from  your  own  lips, 


160  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

Mr.  Dunbar,  so  asked  Mr.  Hillyer  to  have  you 
come.  Whatever  you  do  to  assist  him  will  not  be 
forgotten.  Do  you  know  I  have  rather  suspected 
Mr.  Hillyer  of  needless  anxiety  in  this  matter,  fear 
ing  his  usual  prudence  and  judgment  had  been  off 
set  by  the  pleasure  he  tells  me  he  has  had  driving 
behind  your  horses.  You  know  any  man  can  be 
wheedled  into  the  clutches  of  the  very  devil  by  the 
clatter  of  a  clean  pair  of  heels  ?  I  could,  I  know. 
You  know  something  about  horses?" 

"  I  couldn't  live  in  Salina  if  I  didn't,"  Dunbar 
answered.  "  Everybody  up  our  way  has  a  nag  to 
sell,  and  just  to  show  I'm  a  good  citizen,  I  buy 
'em." 

The  conversation  was  taking  the  turn  for  which 
the  artist  had  given  the  editor  the  cue.  "Horse 
talk  "  was  the  order  of  the  day. 

"  IVe  been  the  same  kind  of  victim  of  designing 
men,"  remarked  Mr.  Fletcher.  "  I've  often  won 
dered  if  I  dare  foot  up  my  losses  on  horses.  Have 
you  ever  made  a  calculation,  Mr.  Dunbar?" 

"Can't  sum  up  for  sour  apples,"  Dunbar  re 
joined,  "  but  the  fust  ready-reckoner  who  wants 
work  I'll  set  him  on  the  job.  But  I  once  had  a 
buck-skin  mare  that  cost  me  five  thousand  dollars 
to  own." 


HORSE  TALK.  161 

"  Must  have  been  a   trotter   who   went   wrong, 
wasn't  it?" 

"  No  siree,  just  a  gentleman's  roader,  of  the 
dunghill  breed,  too,  but  a  looker  that  would  make 
an  oil  paintin'  in  a  gold  frame.  I  took  the  mare 
for  a  board  bill.  She  come  to  town  on  a  Wizard 
Oil  wagon,  and  business  not  being  very  rushin' 
the  wizards  had  to  stub  along  the  best  they  could 
with  a  sorrel  geldin'  hooked  to  the  nigh  side  of  the 
pole.  I  kinder  saw  suthin'  in  the  mare,  but  it 
wasn't  oats,  and  set  the  curry  combs  and  her  di 
gestion  to  workin'.  When  she  come  out,  after  a 
week's  groomin',  it  was  with  head  and  tail  up  like  a 
steer  in  a  cornfield.  As  it  was  good  slippin'  I  tried 
her  first  to  a  cutter,  and  she  per-formed  so  well  I 
called  her  Snow  Bird.  The  very  first  trip  Corky 
Jack  Mesmer,  the  one  man  in  Salina  who  knows 
horses  from  the  ground  up,  got  his  eyes  onto  her. 
Nuthin' do  but  he  must  have  her.  'Any  price' 
was  the  way  he  put  it.  But  I  wa'n't  sellin'.  Quo 
tations  on  Snow  Bird  went  up  when  folks  hearn 
tell  I  had  a  mare  Mesmer  wanted  and  couldn't  get. 
See  the  point  ?  By  and  by  I  found  the  mare  had 
her  faults — the  best  of  'em  have,  Mr.  Fletcher — 
and  Snow  Bird  was  a  stamper." 

"  A  stamper  ?     What's  a  stamper,  Mr.  Dunbar  ?  " 
asked  the  editor. 


162  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

"A  stamper's  a  horse  that  steps  on  your  feet 
and  knows  when  she  does  it.  She  had  to  be 
hitched  from  a  step  ladder.  She  had  an  aim  in  her 
hind  feet  that  would  have  saved  the  battle  of  Bull 
Run.  Half  the  hostlers  in  Salina  are  walkin'  lame 
to-day  'cause  they  thought  they  knew  how  to  hook 
her.  Well,  as  Snow  Bird  was  not  much  of  a  family 
horse  and  that  was  the  kind  I  am  always  lookin' 
for,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  let  her  go.  I  made  a 
good  trade  for  a  piebald  mare  and  a  set  of  double 
harness  with  a  harness-maker  from  Ca-millus.  He 
come  back  two  days  later  on  a  stretcher  rigged  on  a 
pair  of  bob  sleighs  with  Snow  Bird  trailin'  behind. 
He  said  I  cheated  him,  and  if  I  didn't  take  the 
'  darned  viper  '  back  would  show  me  how  a  justice's 
summons  looked.  Of  course,  I  told  him  if  he 
wa'n't  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  deal  the  matter 
could  be  arranged.  So  we  up  and  settled  by  me 
returnin'  the  piebald  mare,  which  was  nine  years 
old  ;  I  to  keep  the  double  set  of  harness,  which  was 
bran'  new. 

"  So  Snow  Bird  comes  back  to  home  and  mother, 
and  the  price  of  hired  help  in  my  barn  goes  up 
several  notches.  I  saw  the  poor-house  starin'  me  in 
the  face  if  I  didn't  make  a  quick  turn,  so  looked 
around  for  an  openin'.  We  matched  her  next  into 


HORSE  TALK.  163 

a  livery  team,  and  the  pair  of  'em  looked  so  up 
and  up  when  in  front  of  a  gooseback  sleigh  with 
red  runnin'  gear  that  I  was  paid  my  price  and  no 
questions  asked.  Down  went  $175  into  the  toe  of 
my  stockin'.  The  next  thing  I  knew  I  saw  Snow 
Bird  drivin'  single  in  front  of  a  milk  cart.  Then 
suthin'  told  me  there  had  been  a  slaughter  of  inno 
cents  down  in  that  livery  stable.  The  keeper  said 
months  after  that  he  didn't  come  back  to  me  for  a 
settlement  'cause  he  thought  it  wuth  the  price  to 
have  become  in-ti-mately  ac-quainted  with  a  new 
kind  of  horse  deviltry.  It  hurt  my  feelin's  to  see  a 
mare  of  Snow  Bird's  breedin'  and  bringin'  up  ped- 
dlin'  milk,  so  I  struck  a  bargain  for  her  at  $100,  and 
the  milkman  went  away  with  $25  profit,  enough  to 
buy  the  latest  pattern  of  suction  pump.  Snow 
Bird  was  once  more  under  my  roof.  My  barn  boys 
began  to  love  her  with  all  her  faults,  I  had  her  on 
my  hands,  and  on  the  feet  of  my  boys,  for  the  next 
two  weeks,  I  guess  it  was.  Then  'long  comes  a 
doctor,  who  said  Snow  Bird  was  so  like  a  mare  his 
father  used  to  drive  he'd  buy  her  if  I'd  sell  for  a 
decent  figure.  Then  out  Snow  Bird  went  to  heal 
the  sick  and  bind  up  the  wounds  of  the  injured.  I 
told  the  doctor  I'd  bought  the  mare  for  $100 
from  a  milkman,  but  'that  I  ought  to  get  the  ben- 


1 64  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

efit  of  my  ex-perience  in  buyin'  horses,  and  if  he'd 
lay  down  $150  he  would  be  as  good  a  man  as  his 
father.  That  was  the  ante  this  trip.  Well,  you 
can  guess,  if  you're  good  at  guessin',  the  doctor  had 
a  job  in  his  family  in  which  lin-i-ment  and  bandages 
were  used.  When  he  come  to  tell  me  about  it,  he 
didn't  lay  no  blame  onto  me,  but  said  of  course 
such  a  horse  was  useless  to  him,  and  to  obleege  him 
I  agreed  to  take  Snow  Bird  into  my  barn  till  we 
could  find  a  customer  who  did  not  object  to  a 
stamper.  He  said  :  '  Get  what  you  can  for  him, 
Mr.  Dunbar — and  much  obleeged.'  I  was  sorry  for 
the  sawbones,  and  said  I  was  man  enough  to  give 
his  money  back,  but  he  said  I  wa'n't  to  blame  and 
had  probably  been  as  badly  sold  as  he  had." 

"  So  you  couldn't  get  rid  of  the  beast  even  by 
offering  to  give  the  money  back?"  remarked  the 
editor,  who,  to  tell  the  truth,  was  wondering 
whether  Dunbar  was  more  fool  than  knave  in  the 
transactions. 

"  Get  rid  of  Snow  Bird  !  Get  rid  of  Snow  Bird  !  " 
Dunbar  retorted  with  a  show  of  surprise,  "  why  darn 
her  buttons  I  didn't  want  to." 

"  Didn't  want  to  get  rid  of  a  stamper?" 

"  Not  by  a  long  shot,  no.  But  I  lost  her,  and 
that's  where  the  dis-crep-ancy  in  the  cash  account 


HORSE  TALK.  165 

come  in,  as  I  told  you  to  start  with.  That's  where 
I  lost  my  honest  savin's — my  five  thousand." 

"  Tell  us  about  it,  Uncle  Lew,"  interposed  Hill- 
yer,  who  had  been  enjoying  the  story  as  it  went 
along. 

"  That's  what  I'm  at.  After  the  doctor,  I  sold 
Snow  Bird  to  a  young  fellow  who  wanted  to  have 
suthin'  stylish  to  take  his  gal  ridin'  with.  I  closed 
with  him  for  a  hundred,  so  the  doctor  was  out  only 
a  half  hundred,  and  he  thanked  me  as  if  I'd  saved 
his  life.  Back  the  buck-skin  joker  come,  and — well, 
to  skip  the  fences,  it  was  give  and  take  in  three  or 
four  more  deals,  every  one  showin'  a  profit  of  from 
$25  to  $75.  I  tell  you  it  was  like  findin'  money. 
Then  what  do  you  suppose  happened  ?  Down  the 
plank  road  comes  a  sucker  from  Slab  City,  a  reg-u- 
lar  greenhorn,  and  buys  Snow  Bird  off  me  for  one 
hundred  dollars,  and  five  tons  of  clover  and  timothy, 
to  be  de-livered  as  I  wanted  it." 

"What  did  he  do?" 

"Do?  darn  his  picture,  he  didn't  do  nuthin*.  I 
got  the  money  and  the  hay,  but  he  didn't  come 
back  with  Snow  Bird.  I've  never  seen  the  mare 
since,  and  I  was  out  five  thousand  dollars." 

"  How's  that  ?  "  queried  the  editor.  "  I  don't  just 
see  where  you  lost<  I  haven't  figured  your  profits 


1 66  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

on  the  several  transactions,  but  you  must  have  made 
a  pretty  penny." 

"  Why,  I  was  rakin'  in  the  cash  at  the  rate  of 
fifty  or  seventy-five  a  clip,  and  if  that  Slab  City 
stranger  hadn't  fooled  me,  Snow  Bird'd  have  been 
doin'  business  at  the  old  stand  for  a  year  or  two. 
That  Slab  City  chap  was  a  highway  robber,  and 
no  mistake.  He  had  no  claim  to  that  mare.  I  had 
a  patent  right  on  her.  She  was  a  gen-u-ine 
stamper." 

It  was  through  no  sign  of  Mr.  Fletcher's  im 
patience  that  the  interview  ended,  as  it  shortly  did, 
Dunbar  having  suddenly  declared  he  must  be  going. 
Hillyer  had  not  the  heart  to  stop  him,  knowing  he 
had  planned  a  trip  to  the  Convent  of  St.  Mary's  for 
the  afternoon.  The  artist,  too,  was  desirous  for  an 
opportunity  to  inform  Dunbar  of  the  pleasure  that 
had  come  of  his  daughter's  visit  to  the  Hillyer 
home. 

Mr.  Fletcher  was  still  chuckling  loud  enough  to 
be  heard  by  both  men  as  Dunbar  and  Hillyer  took 
the  first  steps  down  the  stairs. 

Dunbar  did  not  tire  of  hearing  his  daughter's 
praises  sung  by  the  young  artist.  At  lunch  he 
would  insist  in  picking  out  the  best  to  be  had  and 
paying  for  it,  though  Hillyer  tried  to  show  him  he 


HORSE  TALK.  167 

was  the  guest  of  the  publishing  house,  having  come 
down  on  its  business.  Perhaps  it  was  because  Hill- 
yer  was  not  slow  in  volunteering  to  say  so  much  in 
favour  of  Grace  that  Dunbar  did  not  once  express 
concern  as  to  the  impression  she  created.  He  was 
only  anxious  to  know  if  she  appeared  to  be  as  well 
pleased  with  her  entertainers  as  they  were  with  her. 
Had  the  artist  been  thin-skinned  he  might  have 
taken  umbrage  at  this  attempted  reversal  of  the 
compliment  bestowed. 

"  This  morning  at  breakfast,"  Hillyer  said,  "we 
talked  over  at  home  a  trip  to  Salina  with  me — when 
I  go  back,  I  mean — for  a  little  party  of  friends,  my 
mother  and  sisters  included,  to  see  the  giant.  It's 
certainly  worth  seeing  as  a  gigantic  fraud  if  not  as 
an  ancient  wonder.  What  do  you  say  to  Miss 
Grace  going  ?  " 

Dunbar  shook  his  head. 

"  It  will  be  a  good  chance  for  her  to  visit  her  old 
friends  in  Salina  for  three  or  four  days,"  Hillyer 
urged. 

Dunbar  was  still  silent,  and  Hillyer  continued  : 

"  Our  party  will  be  nice  people,  all  of  them,  and 
Miss  Grace  will  be  the  guest  of  my  sisters,  and  stay 
with  them  at  the  Salina  House." 

"  Say,  Pro-iessor,"  Dunbar  finally  said,  rising  from 


168  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

his  seat,  and  putting  a  booted  foot  on  his  chair, 
while  he  stretched  his  napkin  across  his  elevated 
knee  by  the  extreme  corners,  "  we've  got  to  take  a 
fresh  hold.  We're  not  pullin'  together,  and  I  guess 
your  Uncle  Lew  will  have  to  have  the  gad  laid  on 
his  back  for  jumpin'  the  track.  Can't  you  see,  Pro 
fessor,  I  don't  want  my  gal  ever  to  go  back  to 
Salina?" 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Can't  you  see  if  I  did,  I'd  never  buried  her  in 
that  nunnery,  instead  of  givin'  her  a  home  in  Salina, 
the  best  money  can  buy?  Can't  you  see  that? 
Man  a-live,  Pro-fessor,  I'm  nuthin'  much  better  than 
a  piece  of  old  hair  cloth  furniture,  but  if  you  touch 
me  gently  you'll  find  soft  places,  the  places  where 
the  springs  are.  And  you've  jarred  my  insides  hard, 
this  time." 

Hillyer,  stung  with  mortification  at  what  he  saw 
he  had  done,  would  have  offered  abject  apology 
had  not  Dunbar,  by  a  sign,  stopped  him.  The 
artist  was  instantly  made  aware  of  the  fact  that  his 
old  friend  did  not  mean  to  be  reproachful,  and  he 
concluded  it  best  to  allow  Dunbar  to  go  on  uninter 
rupted. 

"  Salina's  good  'nough  for  me,  and  for  better 
men  than  me,  too,  and  would  suit  my  gal,  maybe, 


HORSE  TALK.  169 

if  Lewis  Dunbar  didn't  live  there.  What  I'm 
drivin'  at,  my  boy,  is  this — the  best  I  can  do  for  her 
in  Salina  is  to  scratch  gravel  and  wash  out  a  few 
nuggets.  But  what  would  a  gal  like  mine  amount 
to  there — Uncle  Lew's  gal  Grace  ?  O,  I  know  I've 
had  a  fair  deal,  and  hold  some  long  suits,  but  don't 
you  fool  yourself  into  believin'  I  don't  see  how  the 
game'll  end.  The  best  men  in  town  give  me  the 
right  hand  of  fellowship,  and  call  me  Uncle  Lew, 
and  if  it  comes  to  that,  there's  not  a  banker  in 
Salina  who  wouldn't  give  me  a  lift  if  I  went  down. 
But  Lewis  Dunbar  and  Lewis  Dunbar's  gal  ain't 
suckin'  cider  through  the  same  straws.  All  these 
nice  folks,  who  like  your  Uncle  Lew  so  much,  are 
good  friends,  but  there's  not  one  of  'em  who  ever 
did  what  you  did  when  you  wanted  me  to  sit  down 
at  your  table  with  your  mother  and  sisters  !  You 
know  what  that  means,  my  boy,  don't  you  ?  Bless 
your  heart,  Pro-fessor,  I'm  not  goin'  to  anybody's 
back  door  askin'  for  cold  pieces,  nor  for  kind  words 
or  buttered  parsnips ;  no  siree.  But  I  can  worry 
along  without  the  things  a  gal  like  Grace  would 
break  her  heart  over.  D'ye  understand  ?  " 

"  I  do  understand,  old  friend,"  replied  Hillyer 
with  feeling.  "  But  don't  you  underestimate  the 
value  of  your  own  popularity  in  your  community  ?  " 


1 70  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

"That's  jest  what  I  don't  do,  Pro-fessor,"  an 
swered  Dunbar,  "  that's  jest  what  I  don't  do. 
Why,  my  boy,  if  you  lived  in  Salina  you  wouldn't 
have  asked  me  to  come  to  your  house  any  more 
than— well,  never  mind  who — let's  say  Tom,  Dick 
or  Harry  of  Salina.  You  speak  of  popularity,  and 
I  guess  I've  got  it  all  right,  but  it  ain't  the  kind  of 
popularity  to  smooth  the  path  of  a  young  gal,  and 
you  can  bet  your  boots,  Grace  is  not  goin'  into  the 
race  of  life  han-di-capped  by  it." 

Although  Hillyer  wanted,  and  honestly  wanted, 
to  resent  the  imputation  touching  the  dinner  in 
vitation,  he  held  his  tongue,  being  too  deeply  im 
pressed  with  the  abstract  soundness  of  his  friend's 
philosophy  to  combat  its  application  to  prevailing 
social  conditions. 

The  two  men  parted  thinking  more  of  each  other 
than  ever  before — of  that  there  was  no  doubt — 
Dunbar  to  visit  his  daughter  and  Hillyer  to  go  to 
the  work  which  he  had  to  do  before  his  return  to 
Salina. 

On  the  artist's  desk  was  a  slip  of  paper  asking 
him  to  see  Mr.  Fletcher  before  he  went  away  for 
the  day. 

"  I  only  wanted  to  say,"  said  the  editor  when 
Hillyer  responded  to  the  summons,  "you've  made 


HORSE  TALK.  171 

no  mistake  in  that  man.  He'll  make  a  book 
if  rightly  handled.  He's  just  as  original  as  you 
said  he  was.  Mind  you,  it's  not  the  easiest  thing 
in  the  world  to  transplant  a  character  from  real  life 
to  fiction — indeed  I  think  invention,  pure  invention, 
is  easier,  but  were  I  in  your  place  I  would  try  my 
hand  on  him." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Fletcher,"  was  Hillyer's  reply. 
"  I  think  I  will,  although  I  may  make  only  a  jour 
neyman's  job  of  it.  But  the  more  I  see  of  him  the 
more  I'm  taken  with  the  idea." 

"  He's  genuine,  at  least,"  the  editor  said,  "  and 
that's  more  than  can  be  said  of  the  Cardiff  Giant. 
You've  made  the  discovery ;  now  see  if  you  can 
develop  it." 


CHAPTER   XII. 

FOLLOWING  A   CLUE. 

LEWIS  DUNBAR  came  back  to  Salina  with  a 
picture  in  his  mind's  eye  of  a  house  built  of  brown 
stone,  with  balustraded  steps  of  the  same  material 
leading  to  a  pair  of  carved  doors  with  frosted  glass 
in  the  upper  panels.  It  was  like  a  score  of  other 
houses  in  the  same  street  in  Brooklyn,  this  house  he 
had  so  accurately  photographed,  but  so  far  as  an 
exterior  view  of  it  could  go,  he  flattered  himself 
he  knew  its  minutest  detail.  This  was  the  house 
in  which  the  Hillyers  lived,  and  he  had  proceeded 
immediately  thither  from  the  convent,  not  so  much 
to  verify  Grace's  ecstasies  as  to  learn  what  was  her 
conception  of  an  ideal  home.  He  had  patrolled  the 
street  in  front  of  the  house  so  many  times,  that  a 
servant  girl,  engaged  in  sweeping  the  flagged  area 
inside  the  iron  wicket,  foolishly  thought  she  had 
struck  up  a  flirtation  with  him. 

Grace's  descriptive  gifts  had  been  exhausted 
telling  her  father  what  the  house  looked  like  to  her. 
It  is  feared  she  had  conveyed  to  the  parental  mind 


FOLLOWING  A  CLUE.  173 

a  picture  of  its  interior  arrangements  more  gorgeous 
than  the  facts  justified.  Owing  to  her  inexperience 
her  measurements  of  space  and  cost  were  apt  to  be 
slight  exaggerations.  Her  girlish  fancy  of  what 
untold  wealth  must  be  had  been  excited,  no  doubt, 
by  the  great  mirror  in  a  gold  frame  at  the  head  of 
the  drawing  room,  and  the  lustre  of  the  crystal 
pendants  which  hung  from  the  chandeliers.  Dun- 
bar  had  already  made  up  his  mind  to  inquire  what 
such  things  could  be  bought  for.  The  house  itself, 
as  he  saw  it,  did  not  dismay  him,  as  he  knew  a  half 
dozen  old  homes  in  Salina  which  threw  it  into  the 
shade.  He  was  thinking  it  was  more  than  possible 
he  would  be  able  to  establish  Grace  as  comfortably 
as  the  Hillyers,  and  he  was  joyous  in  the  knowledge 
of  what  was  her  wish. 

It  had  been  arranged  with  the  sisters  at  the 
convent  that  Grace  was  to  enjoy  the  hospitality  of 
her  new  friends  as  often  as  it  was  proffered,  and  he 
was  not  slow  to  take  the  hint  that  these  opportuni 
ties  to  mingle  with  the  world  would  require  more 
attention  to  her  wardrobe  than  it  had  hitherto 
received. 

"  You  get  sis  whatever  she  wants  in  that  line," 
Dunbar  said  to  Sister  Tesianna,  who  naively 
dropped  the  suggestion.  "  I  want  her  to  rag  out 


174  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

like  the  best.  Here's  a  wad,  and  if  you  want  more, 
don't  be  backward  in  comin'  forward." 

And  Dunbar  handed  the  sister  a  roll  of  bank 
bills  he  had  been  counting  on  his  knee. 

"  We  will  not  require  as  much  as  this,"  the  sister 
said,  but  Dunbar  compelled  her  to  become  the 
custodian  of  the  deposit,  with  the  remark  : 

"  Keep  the  change.  There's  more  where  this 
come  from." 

It  was  not  until  a  fortnight  afterward  that  Dun- 
bar  was  made  aware  of  what  good  use  had  been 
made  of  his  money  through  the  foresight  of  Sister 
Tesianna,  who  had  put  Grace  in  the  hands  of  the 
Misses  Hillyer's  dressmakers,  in  order  that  there 
might  be  no  mistake.  Sister  Tesianna  had  been  so 
absorbed  in  this  obligation  to  her  charge  that  the 
Mother  Superior  laughingly  chaffed  her  about 
slipping  away  from  her  religious  vows.  Her  re 
ward  may  have  been  in  Grace's  letter  to  her  father 
telling  in  the  usual  rhapsodies  of  girlhood  what  had 
been  accomplished  through  his  generosity.  Cer 
tainly  Dunbar,  as  little  knowing  as  he  was  of  the 
devices  of  feminine  adornment,  was  never  happier 
over  the  performance  of  a  good  deed.  He  was 
half  sorry,  in  fact,  that  he  had  stood  in  the  way  of 
Grace  visiting  Salina  with  the  Hillyers. 


FOLLOWING  A  CLUE.  175 

"  I'd  liked  to  have  seen  sis  in  her  new  togs,"  was 
his  remark  to  himself.  "  She's  the  gal  to  wear  the 
tail  feathers  of  the  lulu-bird." 

But  the  Hillyers  and  their  friends  made  the 
journey  without  Grace,  and  though  Dunbar  would 
have  avoided  them  if  possible — at  least  without 
offending  the  artist —  it  was  upon  him  that  a  fair 
share  of  their  entertainment  devolved.  During 
their  three  days'  sojourn  at  the  Salina  House 
Hillyer  virtually  compelled  Dunbar's  attentions, 
a  line  of  duty  to  which  he  devoted  himself  with 
utter  disregard  of  his  own  comfort,  once  the  artist 
had  intimated  that  in  this  way  he  could  repay  the 
courtesies  extended  to  his  daughter.  He  had  tend 
ered  his  horses  and  his  sleighs  unreservedly  to  Hill 
yer,  but  wanted  to  be  relieved  of  the  responsibility 
of  accompanying  the  party  on  their  excursions. 
Hillyer,  therefore,  felt  constrained  to  exact  some 
thing  more  of  his  friend,  and  discovered  a  way 
through  Dunbar's  sense  of  obligation. 

"  It's  hardly  a  square  deal,  as  Dunbar  would  say," 
was  Hillyer's  comment  on  his  own  conduct,  "but 
we  can't  do  without  our  good  genius.  He's  a 
bigger  man  in  these  parts  than  the  giant." 

It  therefore  came  about  that  Dunbar  was  so  busy 
with  his  friend  that  he  did  not  much  more  than 


176  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

learn  that  Lull  was  back  in  Salina.  Mrs.  Hillyer 
and  the  Misses  Hillyer  having  said  so  many  things 
that  sustained  Dunbar  in  his  idolatry  of  his 
daughter,  he  even  forgot  to  mention  the  matter  to 
Hillyer  at  that  time.  When  he  did,  it  is  suspected 
that  the  artist  hurried  his  mother  and  sisters  and 
their  friends  away.  They  had  been  numbered  among 
thousands  who  were  still  coming  and  going  in 
answer  to  the  world-wide  announcement  of  the  dis 
covery  of  the  Cardiff  Giant.  It  was  as  yet  high 
treason  in  Salina  to  question  the  integrity  of  the 
discovery,  as  well  it  might  be,  seeing  that  every 
day  strengthened  the  scientific  affirmation  of  its 
genuineness. 

Lull  had  taken  no  pains  to  see  Dunbar.  There 
were  reasons,  in  fact,  for  thinking  he  had  gone  out 
of  his  way  to  avoid  him.  Dunbar  and  Hillyer 
tried  to  figure  this  out,  and  were  at  a  loss  to  account 
for  the  change  of  front,  when  publication  was  made 
suddenly  of  the  fact  that  the  ownership  of  the 
Cardiff  Giant  had  passed  into  the  hands  of  a  com 
pany  of  five  men  of  known  wealth  in  that  part  of 
the  state.  Dunbar  and  Hillyer  saw  the  craft  of 
Lull  in  this,  or  thought  they  did,  especially  as 
his  own  name  did  not  appear  in  the  transaction. 
The  very  first  opportunity  Dunbar  had  to  talk  with 


FOLLOWING  A  CLUE.  177 

Lull  there  was  an  air  of  abstraction  about  what  was 
said  which  summarily  ended  hope  of  working  out 
the  mystery,  if  mystery  there  was,  through  Lull. 
Lull  himself  said  he  guessed  nothing  would  come 
of  their  plan  now  that  the  business  was  in  new 
hands. 

"  We  were  a  little  slow,  I  guess,  Dunbar,"  was 
what  Lull  remarked.  "  Too  bad,  too,  for  the 
giant's  a  money-maker,  a  big  money-maker." 

"  The  graven  image  has  struck  oil  for  sure,"  Dun- 
bar  rejoined  dryly. 

Hillyer  was  rapidly  coming  to  the  conclusion 
that  if  he  was  to  distinguish  himself  in  the  world  it 
would  not  be  as  a  detective,  for  barring  a  naked 
suspicion  now  so  hopelessly  entangled,  he  had  been 
unable  to  make  progress  in  any  direction  pointing 
to  fraud.  To  himself,  he  admitted  he  was  not  just 
the  man  to  pursue  the  necessary  investigation,  and 
when  Dunbar  told  him  so  in  plain  words,  he  was 
sure  of  it. 

"  Pro-fessor,"  he  said,  "  you're  not  cut  out  for  a 
sleuth-hound.  It  takes  a  mean  kind  of  man  to  be 
ade-tective,  and,  Pro-fessor,  you're  not  that  kind  of 
man.  If  you  was,  you'd  be  after  Lull  hot  foot ; 
you'd  know  where  he  come  from  and  where  he's 
goin'.  You'd  track  him  down  like  an  Injun  from 


i;8  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

hell  to  breakfast.  Nobody  knows  much  about  the 
chap,  but  a  de-tective  would  nail  him  to  the  cross. 
He  used  to  be  a  tobacco  grower  out  at  Ly-sander,  I 
know  that,  but  he's  been  gone  from  these  parts  for 
three  or  four  years,  and  where  he  was  is  the  joker 
in  this  game.  The  thing  would  be  to  get  a  startin' 
point,  the  word  '  go  '  as  it  were,  and  then  you'd  have 
him  foul.  You  see  you  couldn't  put  the  giant  six 
feet  underground  out  there  without  some  one  doin' 
some  hard  diggin'.  If  the  giant  is  a  ringer — and 
we  think  he  is — there  must  have  been  more  than 
Lull  and  Dewell  who  know  it.  What  any  man 
knows  you  can  find  out.  It's  human  nature  to  want 
to  tell.  It  ain't  a  secret  when  two  know  it.  When 
more  than  two  I'd  jest  as  lief  paste  it  on  the  court 
house  door,  or  tell  the  parson.  Now,  my  boy,  the 
fellows  who're  goin'  to  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag 
are  the  fellows  who  helped  and  hain't  had  a  fair 
divvy.  When  they  find  out  how  much  money  it's 
makin'  they'll  squeal  like  stuck  pigs.  Mark  my 
words  there'll  be  some  one  on  the  gravel  train  with 
a  story  to  tell.  The  thing's  to  find  him  fust.  Fust 
come  fust  served,  as  they  say." 

"  I  know  you're  right  as  to  myself,"  replied  Hill- 
yer,  "  and  I  believe  you  have  hit  it  as  to  the  only 
chance  of  tracing  the  fraud.  I'm  going  to  think 


FOLLOWING  A  CLUE.  179 

over  night  on  what  you've  said,  and  decide  whether 
I'll  return  to  New  York  or  go  on  with  the  case,  '  Go 
on  with  the  case.'  That  sounds  like  a  detective's 
lingo.  I'm  not  quite  sure  whether  I'm  proud  or 
sorry  of  my  inclination  to  fall  into  the  professional 
habit." 

Lull  was  protracting  his  stay  at  the  Salina  House. 
Still  no  one  save  Dunbar  and  Hillyer  connected  his 
presence  in  town  with  the  chief  theme  of  every 
body's  conversation.  He  had  no  more,  no  less,  to  say 
about  the  Cardiff  Giant  than  the  rest  of  the  people. 
Had  he  indeed  refrained  from  discussing  every  new 
opinion  he  would  have  been  quickly  singled  out  for 
notice.  There  was  no  doubt  Lull  was  well  fixed  in 
the  good  graces  of  the  people  he  was  meeting.  He 
was  not  at  a  loss  for  words  and  spent  his  money  with 
a  free  hand.  Lately  it  was  noted  by  the  more  ob 
servant  that  he  was  dispensing  his  favours  more 
lavishly  than  usual.  This  had  not  escaped  either 
Hillyer  or  Dunbar,  and  they  wagged  their  heads 
knowingly  over  the  fact.  Indeed  the  artist's  stay 
had  been  prolonged  thereby,  for  coupled  with  this 
circumstance  there  had  been  a  rumour,  which  Hill 
yer  was  detective  enough  to  verify,  that  Lull  had 
opened  an  account  at  the  City  Bank. 

The  artist  laughed  heartily  with  Dunbar  over  his 


i8o  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

display  of  skill  in  making  this  discovery,  and  urged 
it  as  proof  positive  that  Dunbar  had  underestimated 
his  versatile  powers. 

"  You  know  I've  had  my  own  checks  cashed  at 
the  City  Bank,"  he  explained,  "  and  it  occurred  to 
me  to-day  when  I  went  there  I'd  try  my  hand  at 
detective  work.  So  when  talking  to  the  cashier, 
I  casually  remarked  that  Ephraim  Lull  was  a  friend 
of  mine,  and  if  he  chanced  to  call  and  was  not  known 
I  would  speak  for  him.  '  O,  that's  all  right,'  said 
the  cashier,  '  Mr.  Lull  has  just  opened  an  account 
with  us/  and  the  cashier  added  it  was  a  handsome 
one.  So  there  you  are,  Uncle  Lew — I'm  not  such 
a  dunderhead  as  you  thought." 

"  Quite  right,  my  boy,"  replied  Dunbar,  "  you 
know  I've  always  stuck  to  the  notion  you  couldn't 
tell  what  kind  of  wine  you  were  drinkin'  by  readin' 
the  label  on  the  bottle." 

A  few  days  later  a  man  walked  into  the  Salina 
House  and  asked  for  Ephraim  Lull,  and  when  in 
formed  by  Capt.  Bower  that  the  object  of  his  in 
quiry  had  suddenly  left  the  day  before,  bound  which 
way  he  did  not  know,  the  inquirer  swore  a  blue 
streak  as  an  emphasis  to  the  one  word  : 

"Sloped!" 

From  the  fact  that  the  man  asked  the  rates  for 


FOLLOWING  A  CLUE.  181 

board  and  lodging  at  the  Salina  House,  and  when 
informed,  did  not  seem  satisfied  to  pay  them,  it  was 
surmised  by  the  landlord  that  another  hotel  would 
get  his  patronage.  Capt.  Bower  having  mentioned 
in  a  jovial  way  that  night  that  some  friend  of  Lull's 
who  did  not  have  as  plentiful  a  supply  of  spondu 
licks  as  Lull,  had  gone  elsewhere,  Hillyer  was  soon 
keen  on  the  scent.  To  Dunbar  he  confided  his 
latest  clue  (he  so  dignified  it)  with  the  suggestion 
that  perhaps  one  of  the  conspirators  had  come  to 
claim  his  share  of  the  plunder.  Dunbar,  though  he 
was  primarily  responsible  for  putting  this  idea  in 
the  artist's  head,  was  not  looking  for  such  quick 
returns  ;  so  he  advised  caution  and  deliberation. 

"  I  don't  see  much  blood  on  the  face  of  the  moon," 
was  his  comment,  "  but  we'll  take  a  stroll  in  the 
moonlight  and  keep  our  eyes  peeled." 

It  was  agreed  that  Dunbar  should  "  mouse 
around  "  in  quest  of  the  stranger,  and  as  he  knew 
every  nook  and  cranny  of  the  town  where  there 
was  a  place  to  lay  a  head  or  get  a  bite  to  eat,  he 
felt  sure  of  finding  his  prey  if  prey  was  to  be  found. 

It  did  not  take  long  to  locate  Peter  Aldinger  of 
Chicago  at  the  Mansion  House,  which  like  most 
hostelries  of  its  name  flagrantly  belied  its  pre 
tentious  designation, 


182  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

Once  found,  Hillyer  was  for  taking  the  man  in 
hand,  and  by  threats,  or  bribery,  or  cajolery,  forcing 
the  truth  from  him. 

"  If  the  truth  be  in  him  let's  have  it  out,"  was 
Hillyer's  exclamation. 

"  If  you  tap  him  to-night,"  Dunbar  said,  "  you'll 
get  nuthin'  but  bug-juice." 

"  Drunk?"  queried  the  artist. 

"  Drunk  as  a  biled  owl,"  was  Dunbar' s  reply. 
"  Soaked  through  and  through  like  a  brandied 
peach." 

Dunbar  had  gone  far  enough,  to  assure  himself 
that  Aldinger  was  the  strange  man  who  had  asked 
for  Lull  at  the  Salina  House,  and  that  fact  having 
been  ascertained,  it  was  determined  to  make  him 
the  object  of  close  scrutiny.  Dunbar  was  for  wait 
ing  to  see  whether  the  man  showed  further  anxiety 
to  see  Lull,  and  that  plan  being  agreeable  to  Hill 
yer,  they  contented  themselves  watching  for  his 
appearance  at  the  Salina  House.  Aldinger,  how 
ever,  made  no  inquiries  there  for  three  days,  though 
he  remained  at  the  Mansion  House,  and  beyond 
imbibing  freely  of  the  local  brands  of  liquid  re 
freshment,  apparently  had  no  especial  business  in 
town.  He  had  been  to  see  the  Cardiff  Giant,  but 
it  did  not  appear  he  had  taken  more  interest  in  the 


FOLLOWING  A  CLUE.  183 

exhibition  than  the  average  visitor.  Dunbar,  who 
was  making  it  a  habit  to  drop  into  the  Mansion 
House  nearly  every  evening,  gathered  this  from  off 
hand  inquiries.  Dunbar  had  also  struck  up  an 
acquaintance  with  Aldinger,  and  had  brought  Hill- 
yer  word  that  if  the  man  knew  anything  it  would 
have  to  be  dragged  out  of  him  with  a  yoke  of  oxen. 

"  I've  cut  my  eye  teeth,  my  boy,  when  it  comes 
to  horseflesh,  human  nature  and  pasteboards,  and 
this  fellow's  a  deep  one.  He  won't  blab  less  we 
get  on  his  soft  side.  So  to  help  the  game  along, 
Pro-fessor,  I'm  goin'  to  try  the  se-ductive  power  of 
Lewis  Dunbar's  doughnuts  on  him.  If  he  resists 
'em  I'll  give  him  up  as  a  bad  job  and  go  out  of  the 
de-tective  business." 

"You  mean,  Uncle  Lew?" 

"  I  mean  I'll  tickle  his  palate  with  temptin'  viands 
and  good  liquor  and  hope  for  the  best." 

The  next  day  there  was  a  deal  of  sport  over  the 
remark  of  a  drunken  -man  who,  when  he  made  him 
self  obnoxious  in  the  presence  of  the  giant,  had 
been  forcibly  ejected  from  the  place  of  exhibition. 
He  stood  on  the  sidewalk  laughing  in  tipsy  fashion 
at  the  jeers  of  the  urchins  outside.  What  he  said 
was  printed  in  the  afternoon  by  Mr.  March,  who 
heard  it,  and  with  journalistic  instinct  gave  it 
record : 


1 84  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

"  Nice  ol'  giant.  Good  fren'  o'  mine.  Knew 
him  i'  Chicago.  Sen'  for  me  t'  come  t'  see  him. 
Be  awful  mad  when  h'  hears  offish — offish — offishers 
put  me  out.  Nice  ol'  giant.  Pete  Aldinger's 
giant's  uncle.  Have  a  drink  with  me." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   DETECTIVES. 

THE  pursuit  of  mystery  was  interrupted  by  a  let 
ter  which  the  artist  received  from  home.  It  was  by 
no  means  an  uncommon  occurrence,  this  communi 
cation  between  Hillyer  and  his  mother,  for  they 
maintained  a  correspondence  which  he  proudly 
boasted  had  never  been  broken  by  a  period  longer 
than  a  week,  even  when  he  was  at  the  uttermost 
ends  of  the  earth.  What  made  this  particular  let 
ter  important  was  the  message  it  contained  for 
Dunbar.  It  came,  too,  on  the  very  day  of  the 
week  that  Dunbar  invariably  heard  from  Grace, 
and  conveyed  a  message  that  ordinarily  would  have 
been  the  major  part  of  her  little  budget  of  news. 
Grace  had  closed  her  letter  with  a  carefully  worded 
notification  to  her  father  that  Mrs.  Hillyer  had 
manifested  a  new  interest  in  her  and  would  write 
fully  regarding  it  to  Mr.  Hillyer. 

"  I've  got  something  to  tell  you,"  Hillyer  said 
when  they  met.  "  And  I  want  you,  Uncle  Lew,  to 
agree  to  what  my  mother  proposes  before  I  tell 


1 86  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

you."  And  the  artist  tapped  the  letter  on  Dun- 
bar's  expansive  shirt  front  just  where  the  crown 
jewels  were  shining. 

"You  never  need  blindfold  a  horse  'cept  to  lead 
him  out  of  a  burnin'  barn,"  was  Dunbar's  reply. 
"  Better  give  me  my  head,  and  see  what  I'll  do." 

"  Well,"  continued  Hillyer,  "  you  remember  I 
promised  to  see  what  we  could  do  about  arranging 
a  trip  abroad  for  Miss  Grace?  It's  all  arranged  if 
you  say  the  word,  and  you're  not  the  man  I  think 
you  are  if  the  plans  don't  suit.  My  mother  and 
the  girls  are  going  over  in  the  spring,  and  Miss 
Grace  is  going  along  with  them.  They've  fixed  the 
whole  thing  up,  and  I  am  commissioned  to  get 
your  consent,  as  Miss  Grace  didn't  like  to  ask  you, 
fearing  you  might  not  want  to  have  her  away  ten 
or  twelve  months." 

Dunbar  made  as  if  he  would  say  something,  but 
Hillyer  held  the  floor. 

"  You  know  this  idea  of  sending  her  abroad  was 
your  own,  and  you  can't  object  to  it,  unless  you 
don't  like  the  company  of  my  mother  and  sisters. 
You  won't  say  that,  will  you,  Uncle  Lew  ?  No, 
you  hadn't  better.  Mother  writes  that  Miss  Grace 
will  be  delighted  to  go,  if  you  will  let  her,  and  my 
sisters  say  they'll  never  speak  to  you  again  if  you 


THE  DETECTIVES.  187 

refuse.  I  don't  see  anything  especially  severe  in 
that  kind  of  punishment  myself,  but  it's  the  way 
girls  have,  and  if  nothing  else  it  measures  the  de 
gree  of  their  anxiety.  They  want  Miss  Grace  to  go 
with  them." 

Dunbar  stood  up  and  walked  down  the  length  of 
the  eating-house.  Though  his  back  was  turned, 
Hillyer  saw  his  friend  was  brushing  his  face  with  a 
sweep  of  his  hand,  and  there  was  a  trace  of  moisture 
in  his  eyes  when  he  came  back.  Dunbar  was  at 
tempting  to  cover  his  retreat  by  getting  a  match 
with  which  he  was  ostentatiously  lighting  a  cigar 
as  he  sat  down  again. 

"  My  mother,"  Hillyer  went  on  as  if  picking  his 
words,  "  wanted  to  ask  Miss  Grace  to  travel  with 
her  and  the  girls  as  her  guest,  but  I  suggested  she 
go  with  them — on  her  own  account,  paying  her  own 
way,  to  speak  plainly.  I  thought,  Uncle  Lew,  you 
would  prefer  it  that  way,  although  mother  told  me 
to  tell  you — and  I  promised — that  it  would  be  a 
great  pleasure  to  take  her  as  a  guest.  If  you  knew 
my  mother  you  would  know  she  meant  it,  every 
word.  But  I'm  putting  your  feelings  before  her's, 
Uncle  Lew,  and  if  you'll  only  say  yes  and  fit  Miss 
Grace  out  for  the  trip  we'll  all  be  very  happy." 

"  Sis   can    go    all    right,"  Dunbar   said   after   he 


i88  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

again  walked  the  length  of  the  eating-house,  "  and 
I'd  like  to  stand  the  shot  for  the  party,  if  you'd 
have  it  that  way.  Sis  would  like  to  do  it  same  as 
her  old  dad,  and  we  wouldn't  be  even  up  then." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  put  in  Hillyer,  "  but  that 
won't  do  at  all,  and  we  won't  even  talk  about  it. 
You  won't  let  my  mother  do  what  would  please  her 
better  than  anything  in  the  world — that  is  take 
Miss  Grace  as  her  guest — why  should  you  propose 
the  other  thing." 

"  Back  up,  back  up,  my  boy,"  Dunbar  said  with 
a  motion  of  his  hands  as  if  he  held  a  pair  of  reins. 
"  What  I  want  is  to  please  your  mother,  and  what 
she  wants  I  want,  and  don't  you  forget  it." 

"  Then  why  in  Sam  Hill  don't  you  let  my  mother 
have  her  way  in  this  little  affair." 

"Jest  what  I'm  goin'  to  do,  Pro-fessor.  I  know 
how  your  mother  feels  about  it,  and  that  ends  it." 

And  in  writing  to  his  mother  announcing  the  re 
sult  of  the  interview,  which  he  did  with  instant 
dispatch,  Hillyer  commented  pleasantly  on  this 
new  evidence  of  his  friend's  better  nature,  the  finer 
sense  of  the  man,  which  the  artist  admitted  to  his 
mother  he  was  always  ignoring  only  to  have  it  re 
coil  upon  him  to  his  utter  chagrin.  "As  far  as  the 
cost  of  the  trip  goes,"  he  wrote,  "  I  know  Mr.  Dun- 


THE  DETECTIVES.  189 

bar  would  willingly  pay  it  for  all,  and  would  think 
it  an  honour  to  do  so,  but  as  he  felt,  he  knows  you 
feel,  and  like  a  true  gentleman,  he  chivalrously 
yields  to  you  the  satisfaction  of  doing  a  nice  thing. 
I  tell  you,  mother,  you  can  never  tell  what  is  in  a 
man  till  you  put  him  to  the  test.  This  I  learned 
long  ago  knocking  about  the  world,  but  till  I  met 
Uncle  Lew  I  never  understood  how  ignorant  I  was. 
I  am  more  and  more  fearful  any  attempt  on  my 
part  to  put  him  in  a  book  will  be  a  puny  effort.  I 
am  wondering  every  day  whether  I  dare  go  on  with 
it." 

As  has  been  said,  the  pursuit  of  mystery  was  in 
terrupted  by  these  incidents.  Dunbar  could  not, 
for  several  days  after  the  plan  for  Grace's  tour  had 
been  laid,  get  up  interest  in  the  whereabouts  or 
antecedents  of  Aldinger.  It  was  midwinter,  and 
the  Hillyers  were  not  to  sail  until  early  May,  yet 
Dunbar  was  as  anxious  to  hurry  the  arrangements 
as  if  there  had  been  an  immediate  call.  He  seemed 
to  regard  the  question  of  preparation,  too,  as  com 
parable  only  to  the  fitting  out  of  an  army.  Hillyer 
found  him  rather  extravagantly  minded  as  to  the 
possible  expenditures  necessary  to  be  made,  and 
had  he  not  known  that  his  sisters  were  looking  after 
their  guest's  requirements,  Hillyer  would  have  been 


IQO  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

fearful  lest  Dunbar  had  plunged  into  hopeless 
bankruptcy.  The  amount  of  money  with  which  he 
proposed  to  provide  his  daughter,  to  cover  in 
cidental  outlays,  was  so  obviously  beyond  the 
necessities  of  the  case,  that  Hillyer  for  the  first 
time  wondered  how  rich  his  friend  might  be.  Dun- 
bar  had  been  volunteering  more  information  regard 
ing  his  financial  condition  than  Hillyer  had  any 
inclination  to  hear.  The  eating-house  he  knew  to 
be  a  paying  venture,  unpretentious  though  it  was, 
for  it  was  as  busy  a  place  as  there  was  in  Salina 
during  most  of  the  day.  Dunbar  had  shown  the 
artist  how  trade  had  thrived  there  during  the  war. 
A  profit  of  $200  and  $300  a  day  was  not  uncommon 
when  Dunbar  was  feeding  the  soldiers,  thousands 
of  whom  passed  through  Salina  every  day,  on  their 
way  to  the  rendezvous  at  Elmira.  It  was  very 
plain  Dunbar  had  piled  up  a  handsome  surplus  in 
those  flush  times.  Although  the  eating-house  was 
not  as  profitable  now,  as  then,  what  Dunbar  called 
"  side  issues  "  probably  kept  his  bank  account  in 
good  condition.  His  transactions  in  horseflesh 
were  by  no  means  a  small  element  of  his  success, 
and  besides,  he  so  naturally  took  to  trade  that  he 
was  apt  to  deal  in  anything  there  was  a  dollar  in. 
"  I  usually  turn  up,  my  boy,  wherever  there's  a 


THE  DETECTIVES.  191 

dollar  that  ain't  nailed  down,"  was  the  way  Dunbar 
described  his  earning  capacity.  "  I  always  take 
things  as  I  find  'em,  and  it's  a  good  rule,  my  boy, 
as  long  as  you  keep  lookin'  where  things  are  to  be 
found.  If  you're  huntin'  for  worms  don't  go  in 
when  it  rains." 

"  And  talking  about  worms,  Uncle  Lew,  it  looks 
as  if  Aldinger  had  crawled  into  his  hole,"  Hillyer 
remarked,  flattering  himself  he  was  rather  clever  to 
bring  the  conversation  around  to  the  topic  he  med 
itated  most.  There  had  now  been  three  or  four 
days  of  inaction.  "  Can't  we  coax  him  out  pretty 
soon  ?  " 

"  I  thought  we'd  wait  till  it  begun  to  rain,"  which 
was  Dunbar's  way  of  saying  he  did  not  deem  the 
time  opportune  to  go  fraud  hunting. 

"  But  we  mustn't  wait  until  we're  all  dead  and 
buried,"  Hillyer  replied,  partly  by  way  of  a  joke 
and  partly  by  way  of  rebuke  for  what  appeared  to 
him  needless  delay. 

"  You  can  never  tell  what's  good  for  you,"  Dun- 
bar  answered.  "  Death  and  burial  come  in  handy 
sometimes.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  about  Strawberry 
Mansion?  It's  out  here  on  the  Pump  House  road 
where  the  birds  sing  and  the  flowers  bloom.  Every 
thing  to  please  the  most  fas-tidious.  There's  a, 


I92  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

Lover's  Leap  and  an  Ice  Cave.  Talk  about  your 
var-i-able  climates,  it  was  so  hot  in  winter  near  the 
Lover's  Leap  you  could  boil  eggs  in  the  tricklin' 
water,  and  so  cold  in  the  Ice  Cave  in  midsummer  it 
froze  the  wick  of  a  lighted  candle.  But  the  sulphur 
spring  was  what  caught  your  Uncle  Lew.  When  I 
took  up  my  abode  there  the  bubblin'  fountain  was 
so  strong  of  brimstone  that  it  made  a  match  smell 
like  ottar  of  roses.  It  would  cure  anybody  of  any 
thing  from  gangrene  to  gluttony,  and  would  make 
hair  grow  on  the  weather  side  of  a  brass  door-knob. 
A  fellow  come  there  early  in  the  game  with  the 
seven  years'  itch  and  went  away  with  four  years' 
salary.  We  had  more  cases  of  this  kind  than  you 
could  shake  a  stick  at.  I  couldn't  keep  the  people 
away  with  a  club,  at  fust,  but  anon  a  ve-loc-i-pede 
school  in  town  killed  the  trick  for  the  Lover's  Leap, 
and  a  cold  spell  in  the  dog  days  put  the  Ice  Cave 
out  of  business.  Then  the  sulphur  spring  gave  out 
and  ruin  stared  me  in  the  face.  You  see  Strawberry 
Mansion  was  at  the  base  of  a  gentle  slope  which 
was  used  as  a  graveyard  by  the  yarb  growers  of 
Vinegar  Hill.  But  it  was  just  my  luck  to  have  the 
buryin'  stop  the  year  I  come,  and  that  settled  it, 
for  the  year  after  the  sulphur  spring  down  in  the 
holler  was  as  pure  and  fresh  as  a  milkman's  well. 


THE  DETECTIVES.  193 

No  cadavers  on  the  hillside,  no  miner-al  in  the 
spring.  So  I  sold  Strawberry  Mansion  for  a  sweat- 
leather  from  a  Kossuth  hat  and  went  back  among 
the  livin'.  But  there's  worse  things  than  havin' 
people  turn  up  their  toes  to  the  daisies.  D'ye  see  ?  " 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this  little  reminis 
cence,  the  effect  of  which  was  to  throw  Hillyer  into 
better  humour,  Dunbar  consented  to  return  to  a 
consideration  of  Aldinger's  possible  connection  with 
the  Cardiff  Giant.  Dunbar  said  he  had  been  hope 
ful  Lull  would  turn  up,  and  that  it  would  then  de 
velop  whether  Aldinger's  coming  to  Salina  had  any 
thing  to  do  with  the  giant,  a  very  important  matter, 
according  to  Dunbar,  and  one  which  he  strongly 
intimated  Hillyer  was  overlooking. 

"We  are  puttin'  up  our  good  money  on  the 
blind,"  he  said,  "  and  while  that's  sporty,  my  boy, 
it  ain't  a  sure  go.  I've  found  out  only  one  thing 
'bout  this  fellow,  and  I've  kept  it  to  myself,  for  if 
I'd  have  peeped  to  you,  you'd  have  gone  off  the 
handle." 

"  What  is  it,  Uncle  Lew  ?  " 

"  If  you'll  keep  your  shirt  on  I'll  give  you  the  in- 
terestin'  details.  This  fellow  from  Chicago's  a 
stone-cutter,  a  knight  of  the  chisel,  as  it  were." 

"O,  ho,"  exclaimed    the  other,  "a  stone-cutter! 


194  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

Could  he  have  carved  the  giant?  No,  hardly,  Uncle 
Lew;  it  doesn't  sound  reasonable." 

"  Darned  if  I  know  what  he's  carved,  but  he's  a 
stone-cutter,  and  so  far  so  good.  If  he'd  been  a 
butcher  or  a  tight-rope  walker  he  wouldn't  have 
fitted  into  our  game  for  a  red  cent,  but  bein'  a 
carver  of  some  kind,  we've  got  a  peg  to  hang  our 
hat  on,  haven't  we?  " 

"  I  see  the  point,  Uncle  Lew,  but  you  know  every 
body  is  saying  even  if  the  giant  isn't  a  petrifaction, 
it's  an  ancient  statue." 

"  Pre-haps,"  put  in  Dunbar,  "  pre-haps.  But  hear 
me,  my  boy,  a  brace  game's  a  brace  game.  The 
nearest  I  ever  come  to  goin'  to  college  was  to  have  a 
doctor  cash  inhisdi-plomain  a  no-limit  poker  game  in 
Cairo,  Illinois  ;  but  there  are  some  things  you  can't 
get  out  of  books,  and  that  college  pro-fessors  give  the 
go-by,  and  one  of  'em's  the  noble  art  of  hocus-pocus. 
Now  if  you  and  me's  called  the  turn  on  Lull,  this 
hunk  of  granite's  a  fraud  through  and  through. 
That  statue  notion  don't  go  down." 

And  Dunbar  was  on  his  feet,  his  beaver  hat  tipped 
over  his  ear  and  his  thumbs  in  their  accustomed 
places  in  the  arm-holes  of  his  vest,  the  very  personi 
fication  of  knowing  worldliness. 

"You're  talking,  Uncle  Lew,"  was  what  Hillyer 
said  in  a  tone  that  unmistakedly  meant  approval. 


THE  DETECTIVES.  195 

"  Well,  yes,  I'm  talkin'  like  a  Dutch  uncle,  my 
boy,  and  I'm  a  Dutchman  if  I  ain't  right." 

"  Then  you  think  Aldinger  may  have  had  a  hand 
in  turning  out — in  carving  the  giant  ?  "  asked  the 
artist. 

"  Let's  see  how  many  cards  he  draws,  and  make 
the  stake  accordin'.  That's  my  way." 

"  You  mean  ?  "  said  Hillyer  suggestively. 

"I'm  jest  about  readv  to  say,  Lull  havin'  made 
himself  scarce,  and  not  havin'  sent  us  his  address, 
so's  we  can't  keep  him  posted  on  what  we're  doin', 
we'll  take  this  son-of-a-sea-cook  from  Chicago  in 
tow,  and  see  what  he's  made  of.  As  long  as  we're 
goin'  to  be  de-tectives  we  might  as  well  go  the  whole 
hog." 

Strange  to  say,  it  was  in  this  way  the  world  got 
its  first  inkling  of  how  monstrously  it  had  been 
humbugged  by  the  Cardiff  Giant.  That  the  world 
did  not  learn  the  details  of  the  great  fraud  was  due 
to  what  Lewis  Dunbar  called  Robert  Hillyer's 
"  Bible  back." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  A  BIBLE   BACK." 

"  IT'S  worth  a  good  deal  to  me,  Uncle  Lew,  to 
know  we  were  on  the  right  track  from  the  first,  and 
if  I  haven't  wasted  your  time,  I  leave  Salina  just  as 
well  satisfied  as  if  I'd  ripped  the  countrywide  open 
with  an  exposure  of  the  fraud.  I've  been  fully  re 
paid,  more  than  repaid,  by  knowing  you,  Uncle 
Lew." 

"  Glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  my  boy,  glad  to  hear 
you  say  so.  But  with  the  tools  in  your  hands  you 
ought  to  blow  the  thing  out  of  water." 

"  Now  don't  mistake  me  for  a  saint — for  there's 
no  halo  encircling  my  forehead — but  I  guess  you 
were  right  when  you  said  I  was  a  Bible  back.  I 
can't  quite  work  myself  up  to  taking  such  an  ad 
vantage  of  a  drunken  man.  Now  let's  let  up  on  the 
giant  and  talk  about  pleasanter  things." 

And  the  conversation  Dunbar  and  Hillyer  were 
having  in  the  depot  while  waiting  the  departure  of 
the  New  York  train  was  turned  to  the  present 
prospect  of  the  artist  seeing  Gr-ace  Dunbar  and  the 


"A  BIBLE  BACK."  197 

friends  she  had  made  in  Brooklyn.  On  many  ac 
counts  Dunbar  was  not  averse  to  changing  the 
trend  of  their  farewell  interview.  On  any  pretext, 
on  any  occasion,  he  would  talk  with  the  artist 
about  his  daughter.  It  was  a  joyful  gratification 
of  the  one  emotion  that  controlled  him.  Then 
again,  he  was  not  satisfied  that  Hillyer  had  dealt 
justly  by  himself  in  failing,  when  the  way  was  open, 
to  make  himself  famous  as  the  exposer  of  the 
Cardiff  Giant.  The  two  men  had  debated  the 
right  and  wrong  of  the  subject  for  days  before 
Hillyer  decided  to  return  to  his  work  in  New  York 
with  the  object  of  his  quest  in  Salina  unfulfilled. 

The  plans  laid  to  uncover  the  mystery  surround 
ing  the  giant  and  its  origin  had  borne  fruit.  The 
stone-cutter  from  Chicago  had  proved  to  be  a 
veritable  mine  of  information.  Exasperated  by 
what  Aldinger  came  to  believe  was  the  double-deal 
ing  of  Ephraim  Lull,  he  had  been  led  by  degrees  to 
unbosom  himself  touching  the  conception  and  exe 
cution  of  the  humbug,  in  about  equal  proportions 
to  the  amount  of  liquor  with  which  he  was  plied. 
When  once  taken  in  hand  by  Dunbar,  Aldinger's 
inordinate  thirst  had,  it  may  be  remarked,  scant 
chances  to  go  unquenched. 

"  If  Ken-tucky  ain't  as  dry  as  the  Sa-hara  desert  it 


198  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

ain't  my  fault,"  Dunbar  said.  "  He's  swilled  enough 
rot-gut  to  float  the  Great  Eastern." 

The  investigators  were  in  possession  of  the  whole 
story.  It  was  drawn  from  the  stone-cutter  without 
apparent  compunction  of  conscience  on  the  part  of 
either  Dunbar  or  Hillyer.  Having  obtained  it, 
however,  the  artist  was  suddenly  stricken  with  re 
morse,  and  declared  that  unless  Aldinger  sober  vol 
unteered  to  verify  Aldinger  drunk  he  would  take  no 
part  in  its  public  exploitation.  Hillyer  did  not 
wait  for  his  ally  in  the  business  to  chide  him  for  so 
tardily  coming  to  this  conclusion.  He  was  candid 
enough  to  admit  his  conduct  had  been  especially 
bad,  in  that  if  he  had  scruples  at  all,  they  should 
have  manifested  themselves  at  the  outset.  Dun- 
bar's  position  in  the  premises  was  that  they  had  re 
sorted  to  methods  of  inquiry  legitimately  within 
the  line  of  detective  duty.  As  detectives,  it  was 
his  contention,  they  were  privileged  to  use  the  in 
formation  they  had  extorted  from  their  victim, 
without  feeling  a  single  qualm — as  detectives.  As 
a  gentleman,  he  said,  he  might  take  a  different  view. 

"  My  boy,"  Dunbar  argued  at  the  beginning,  "  in 
this  wicked  world  a  man  has  to  be  fish,  flesh  or  fowl, 
or  good  red  herring.  You  can't  hook  a  de-tective 
and  a  gentleman  in  double  harness  and  make  'em 


"A  BIBLE  BACK."  199 

travel  together ;  they  won't  look  nor  act  alike, 
no  matter  how  high  you  check  'em.  Hear  me!  It's 
a  nasty  business  we're  in,  my  boy,  and  as  long's 
we're  in  it  we're  just  as  nasty.  There  you  have  it 
straight.  We  mustn't  think  of  what  we're  doin' 
'cept  as  de-tectives.  I  know,  my  boy,  my  kind  of  a 
life — the  rough  and  tumble  kind — hasn't  made  me 
as  par-ticular  as  you  are,  maybe,  but  I've  learned  if 
you're  goin'  to  win  you  must  play  all  the  cards 
dealt  you.  Never  lay  down  a  hand  because  the 
parson's  lookin'  over  your  shoulder.  Don't  be  a 
dy-speptic  at  a  barbecue.  A  de-tective  with  the 
conscience  of  a  gentleman  ain't  no  better." 

But  Hillyer  resisted  the  force  of  this  logic,  and 
as  a  last  resort  attempted  to  justify  the  devices 
employed  to  betray  Aldinger  into  a  confession,  by 
taking  the  man  in  a  lucid  interval  and  urging  him 
to  make  a  clean  breast  of  his  part  in  the  perpetra 
tion  of  the  gigantic  fraud.  What  might  have  been 
the  result  of  this  appeal  to  his  honour,  had  not  Lull 
appeared  on  the  scene  the  day  previous,  cannot  be 
conjectured  ;  but  as  things  turned  out,  the  stone 
cutter  not  only  refused  to  pose  as  a  penitent,  but 
brazenly  denied  ever  having  said  a  word  that  could 
possibly  be  construed  to  signify  knowledge  of  the 
giant.  As  circumstantial  as  his  recital  had  been, 


200  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

considering  his  befuddled  brain,  he  repudiated  every 
word  of  it,  and  intimated  it  was  the  creation  of  the 
artist's  own  imagination,  excited,  as  the  stone-cutter 
was  impudent  enough  to  suggest,  by  over-indul 
gence  in  intoxicating  drink  !  At  this  point,  it  is 
true,  Hillyer's  sentimental  resolve  not  to  make  use 
of  Aldinger's  bibulous  confidence  wavered  to  the 
extent  that  he  threatened  to  expose  the  giant  by 
following  it  step  by  step  from  the  spot  where  the 
gypsum  block  was  quarried  to  the  day  it  was  buried 
in  Cardiff.  This  he  could  easily  do,  he  declared, 
by  pursuing  the  clues  the  drunken  stone-cutter  had 
furnished  him.  Aldinger,  besotted  as  he  was,  had 
sufficient  wit  left  to  discern  the  danger  of  this 
investigation,  and  while  stoutly  denying  personal  par 
ticipation  in  the  manufacture  of  the  giant,  beseeched 
Hillyer  not  to  follow  this  course.  What  he  knew 
of  the  giant  he  had  agreed  to  keep  to  himself  for  a 
price  Lull  was  to  pay,  and  to  cheat  him  out  of  it  by 
making  him  wild  with  whiskey  was  unfair,  he  urged. 

"  All  of  us  have  a  soft  side,"  was  Dunbar's  com 
ment  on  the  outcome  of  this  interview,  "and  this 
rum-guzzler's  struck  your'n,  I  guess." 

"  I  guess  so,"  Hillyer  made  answer. 

"  But  you  won't  mind,  will  you,"  Dunbar  had 
said,  "  if  I  have  a  little  game  of  freeze-out  with  the 


"A  BIBLE  BACK."  201 

giant  ?  I'd  kinder  like  to  smoke  out  the  coon  if 
it's  in  the  pins.  It's  my  nature,  you  know,  when  I 
shy  my  castor  into  the  ring  to  go  in  after  it.  I  want 
to  do  it  jest  for  fun,  jest  for  fun." 

Hillyer  was  quick  to  discern  that  his  old  friend's 
inclination  to  go  to  the  bottom  of  things  had  been 
piqued.  Not  standing  in  awe  of  the  proprieties 
which  were  dictating  Hillyer's  abandonment  of  the 
quest  they  had  entered  on,  Dunbar  proposed  to 
pursue  it  to  a  conclusion  simply  as  a  matter  of  per 
sonal  justification,  and  Hillyer  recognised  no  right 
to  express  himself  of  a  contrary  mind. 

"  Of  course,  Uncle  Lew,  I  can't  stand  in  the  way 
of  that,  nor  do  I  wish  to.  I  confess  I'd  like  to 
know  myself  whether  Aldinger's  strange  story  is 
even  half  truth.  If  it  prove  to  be  so,  some  day — 
not  now — it  will  be  worth  telling,  well  worth  it." 

This  explained  why  Dunbar  and  Hillyer  dis 
appeared  from  Salina  almost  to  a  day.  Dunbar 
was  not  a  man  to  let  grass  grow  under  his  feet.  To 
the  setting  sun  he  turned  his  face  within  the  week, 
ticketed  to  Buffalo,  as  it  was  promptly  reported  at 
the  Salina  House,  but  in  reality  bound  for  Chicago 
and  beyond.  The  ticket  agent  did  not  know  this 
or  he  would  have  told  it.  Through  him  the  desti 
nations  of  departing  residents  were  never  left  a 
subject  of  much  doubt  in  Salina. 


202  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

When  Dunbar  three  weeks  later  was  back  in  his 
accustomed  places  he  accounted  for  his  absence  by 
saying  he  had  been  coon-hunting,  and  he  added,  he 
had  a  pelt  or  two  drying  on  his  barn-door  to  testify 
to  the  success  of  his  expedition. 

"  They're  runnin'  pretty  big  this  year,  coons  be," 
Dunbar  went  on  to  say,  "  and  b'lieve  me  or  not,  the 
best  huntin'  I  had  was  in  a  stone-yard  in  Chicago." 

He  was  regaling  a  group  of  friends  at  the  Salina 
House,  and  this  was  the  first  intimation  they  had 
had,  that  his  journey  had  extended  so  far.  To  the 
inquiries  which  this  information  elicited  Dunbar 
admitted  his  wanderings  had  been  even  longer. 

"  I've  been  far  off  the  beaten  track,"  he  said. 
"  I've  been  on  the  boundless  wastes  of  loway,  where 
the  festive  prairie  dog  coos  for  his  mate  and  the 
jumpin'  gopher  calls  you  for  breakfast  in  the  dewy 
mornin'.  It  was  kind  o'  '  Pike's  peak  or  bust'  with 
your  Uncle  Lew  on  this  trip." 

But  the  story  he  could  have  told  he  kept  locked 
in  his  breast.  It  came  to  Hillyer's  ears  in  due 
time,  but  to  no  other's. 

"  I  wanted  to  get  down  to  hard-pan  at  the  start- 
off,"  Dunbar  said  when  the  artist  was  listening  a 
month  later  in  New  York.  Dunbar  had  made  the 
trip  to  unfold  his  tale.  "  Well,"  he  continued,  "  I 


"A  BIBLE  BACK."  203 

went  straight  as  a  die  for  that  parson  in  loway — the 
fellow  Aldinger  told  us  Lull  had  talked  with  about 
the  giants  in  the  Bible.  He  said  the  fellow  lived  at 
Ackley,  but  when  I  got  there,  he'd  moved  on  to 
'nother  place.  I  got  my  bearin's  and  went  after 
him.  It's  all  true  what  Aldinger  said,  for  the  par 
son  gave  me  the  same  lingo.  Turck,  that's  his 
name,  and  things  go  along  so  slow  up  his  way  they 
don't  know  there's  a  Cardiff  Giant ;  don't  know 
the  war's  over,  I  guess.  Turck  knew  Lull;  met  him 
at  the  house  of  a  poor  devil  who  was  dyin'  of  gal- 
lopin'  con-sumption,  who  Lull  was  nursin',  not  hav- 
in*  anythin'  else  on  hand  to  kill  time.  The  parson 
read  the  Bible  to  the  fellow  on  his  back,  and  Lull 
had  to  listen,  leastwise  he  did,  and  that  started  the 
guff  about  the  giants.  The  parson  showed  me  the 
parts  of  the  Bible  where  it  says  giants  lived  in 
those  days,  but  I  didn't  think  it  much  account,  and 
didn't  make  a  re-cord  of  it.  But  I  guess  them  two 
had  it  hot  and  heavy  over  the  giant  business,  Lull 
sayin'  he  didn't  go  a  cent  on  the  yarn,  and  the 
parson  stickin'  up  for  the  Bible  like  a  good  fellow. 
Then  Lull  up  and  says  to  the  psalm-singer,  so 
Turck  says :  '  Do  you  think  folks  now-a-days  would 
b'lieve  such  a  ghost  story  as  that  ?  '  And  the  par 
son  says  he  knows  they  would ;  'cause  why,  the 


204  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

bones  of  some  of  them  Bible  giants  have  been  dug 
up  ;  and  Lull  he  says  he  knows  that,  and  he  tells 
the  parson  he  b'lieves  the  Bible,  every  word  of  it. 
So  the  sick  man  dies  of  gallopin'  con-sumption  and 
Lull  goes  into  the  giant  business." 

"  Odd,  very  odd,"  Hillyer  broke  in  as  he  roused 
himself  from  the  meditative  attitude  of  an  absorbed 
listener.  "  Just  think  that  what  is  without  question 
the  gigantic  fraud  of  the  century,  had  its  inception, 
its  origin,  in  such  simple  faith.  The  scientific  world 
hoaxed  by  the  belief  of  a  backwoods  minister ! 
And  Lull — all  we  can  say  for  him  is,  he  wears  the 
livery  of  the  Lord  to  serve  the  devil  in." 

"  Queer  world,  ain't  it  ?  "  Dunbar  said  in  a  tone 
that  showed  him  to  be  less  astonished  than  his 
young  friend. 

"  I'm  finding  it  so,  the  longer  I  live,"  Hillyer  an 
swered. 

"  So  much  for  the  Bible  story,"  Dunbar  continued, 
"  and  that  ain't  all  that's  queer,  you  bet.  You  re 
member  what  Aldinger  told  us  about  the  trouble 
Lull  and  his  pardners  had  in  gettin'  a  chunk  of 
stone  big  'nough  for  a  giant,  don't  you  ?  All  true, 
every  word  of  it.  The  first  quarry  at  Fort  Dodge 
— I  was  there — gave  up  the  job.  Then  they  tackled 
a  place  where  some  men  were  blastin'  out  rocks  for 


"A  BIBLE  BACK."  205 

a  railroad  near  Dubuque.  I  ran  the  con-tractor 
down  at  Des  Moincs,  and  got  him  to  give  up  his  in- 
sicies.  He  don't  know  now  he  helped  to  make  the 
Cardiff  Giant.  Lull  wanted  to  pay  for  the  stone  at 
the  quarry,  but  he  didn't  give  a  picay-une  at  Du 
buque.  He  jest  said  he'd  give  the  gang  doin'  the 
work  for  the  railroad —  he'd  give  'em  a  keg  of  beer  if 
they'd  blast  out  a  stone  so  long  and  so  wide.  And 
that's  jest  what  they  done.  And  the  giant  born  of 
the  Bible  had  a  keg  of  beer  for  a  nursin'  bottle." 

"  And  Chicago  ?  You  went  to  Chicago  %  "  asked 
Hillyer  after  he  had  done  laughing  at  this  quip. 

"  Chicago  was  on  my  map,  so  I  went  there.  And 
I  was  in  a  hurry  you  can  better  b'lieve  to  leave  my 
visitin'  card  at  that  stone-yard  in  North  Clark  street 
Aldinger  told  us  'bout.  It  wa'n't  a  hard  place  to 
find,  and  it's  run  by  the  same  cuss  it  was  when  Al 
dinger  was  there — a  Dutchman  named  Rheinhardt. 
I  knew  he  wa'n't  nobody's  fool,  so  jest  said  to 
myself,  I'd  keep  off  his  beat  for  a  spell  till  I'd  get 
the  hang  of  the  place.  So  what  does  I  do  but  drop 
into  a  gin-mill  handy  by  and  have  the  bar-keep  — 
another  Dutchman — send  over  to  the  stone-yard  for 
Rheinhardt.  A  gentleman  wanted  to  see  him  alone 
on  very  par-ticular  business,  I  said.  The  bar-keep 
saw  a  little  trade  in  the  deal  and  gave  the  game  the 


2c4  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

benefit  of  the  doubt.  Then  I  jest  up  and  steps  out, 
sayin'  I'd  be  back  before  Rheinhardt  come.  When 
Rheinhardt  leaves  the  shop,  I  stands  on  the  corner, 
and  goes  in  where  he  comes  out.  Fust  thing  I  does 

o  o 

is  to  ask  for  Aldinger  as  if  I  thought  he  was  there 
yet.  The  five  or  six  fellows  chisellin'  away  for  dear 
life  stop  work,  and  say  Aldinger's  left  long  ago — 
gone  East  they  think.  Then  I  quiz  'em  to  see  if 
any  of  'em  worked  with  him — on  the  giant — but 
they  all  say  they  haven't  been  with  Rheinhardt 
long ;  only  know  Aldinger  'cause  the  boss  has 
spoken  of  him.  Then  I  up  and  says  I'm  very  sorry 
Aldinger's  gone,  for  I  heard  he  had  a  tool  of  some 
kind  I'd  like  to  get,  a  tool  for  puttin'  a  new  kind  o' 
surface  on  cut  stone.  They  all  shook  their  thick 
heads  till  I  says  it's  a  tool  made  with  needles. 
Then  what  does  one  of  'em  do  but  holler  out :  '  That 
must  be  the  thing! '  and  he  pulls  down  from  a  shelf 
the  instru-ment  of  torture  Aldinger  told  us  Lull  in 
vented  to  mark  the  giant  like  as  if  he  had  pores  in 
his  skin." 

"Yes,  I  remember  the  device,"  Hillyer  remarked. 
"  So  there  really  was  such  a  tool  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir-ee,  I  had  the  ugly  weap-on  in  my  hands, 
and  might  have  brought  it  back,  hadn't  Rheinhardt 
got  tired  waitin'  for  me  and  come  back  to  the  shop. 


"A  BIBLE  BACK."  207 

When  he  spies  me  with  the  thing  in  my  fist,  and  a 
greenback  on  the  bench  to  pay  for  it,  I  thought  he'd 
have  fits.  He  said  he  couldn't  sell  the  tool,  as  it 
didn't  belong  to  him,  and  he  might  have  use  for  it 
anyway.  When  I  asks  him  what  he  used  it  for,  he 
jest  said  '  Noodin'  mooch,'  but  he'd  keep  it  himself. 
Then  he  jest  comes  back  at  your  Uncle  askin',  '  Vat 
you  vant  mit  him  ? '  What  d'ye  s'pose  I  said  then  ? 
Jest  this  :  '  I  might  want  to  make  a  Cardiff  Giant  ! '  ' 

"  Well,"  the  artist  exclaimed,  "  what  did  he  say 
to  that?" 

"  Never  opened  his  peep.  Mum  as  an  oyster. 
Looked  like  one  of  his  own  grave  stones — the  shop 
was  full  of  'em.  But  you  can't  fool  this  chicken,  I'd 
hit  him  below  the  belt  and  he  wiggled  some.  Then 
he  jest  picks  up  Lull's  pore-restorer  and  puts  it  back 
on  the  shelf.  Then  he  says  :  '  Who's  dot  Cardiff 
Jiant,  already?'  Then  I  jest  says  this  and  lights 
out  the  door:  'Next  time  you  see  Aldinger  ask 
him.'" 

"  What  then  ?  "  was  Hillyer's  question. 

"What  then?  Nuthin',  only  he  comes  after  me 
like  a  bear  after  a  honey-pot.  He  wants  to  know  if 
I  know  Aldinger  and  a  lot  of  other  things,  and  I 
don't  know  nuthin'.  Whoopee!  I  jest  closes  up  like  a 
clam.  He  don't  know  who  I  am,  or  what  I  am,  and 


208  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

— well,  what  we  couldn't  have  dragged  out  of  him 
with  a  yoke  of  oxen,  he  jest  let's  go  of  as  pretty's 
you  please.  Only  he  wouldn't  sell  me,  for  love  nor 
money,  Lull's  pore-restorer." 

"  Then,"  remarked  Hillyer,  "  Aldinger's  story  of 
the  carving  of  the  stone  in  Chicago  is  true?  " 

"  Hit  it  the  fust  time,  my  boy.  Aldinger's  other 
cognomen  is  George  Washington  Truth." 

"  How  did  you  do  it,  Uncle  Lew  ?  How  did  you 
draw  out  Rheinhardt  ?  " 

"  It  wa'n't  my  good  looks,  I'll  say  that ;  must 
have  been  my  winnin'  ways." 

And  Hillyer  was  willing  to  agree  that  this  answer 
covered  the  case. 

No  word  of  this  interesting  story  reached  the 
public  ears. 

Thus  it  was  the  Cardiff  Giant  escaped  exposure. 
It  was,  however,  under  suspicion.  It  had  been 
rank  heresy  in  Salina  to  scout  the  discovery  of  the 
giant  as  the  unearthing  of  a  veritable  wonder. 
Little  by  little  an  opinion  hostile  to  the  integrity 
of  the  discovery  had  asserted  itself,  and  by  the 
time  its  new  owners  were  exhibiting  it  in  New 
York,  popular  opinion  in  Salina  was  beginning  to 
frown  on  it.  A  money  transaction  which  had 
taken  place  between  Lull  and  Dewell,  and  which 


"  A  BIBLE  BACK."  209 

had  become  known  through  a  leakage  at  one  of  the 
banks,  had  opened  people's  eyes.  Strong  voices 
were  raised  against  it  on  the  strength  of  newly 
found  evidences  of  human  handicraft  which  had 
hitherto  escaped  critical  notice,  but  Dunbar's  voice 
did  not  swell  the  rising  clamour,  for  he  was  reli 
giously  keeping  the  pledge  the  artist  had  made  with 
the  drunken  stone-cutter. 

How  easy  it  would  have  been  for  Dunbar  to  have 
shown  that  the  giant  was  the  product  of  chisels  un 
skilled  in  sculpture,  a  block  of  gypsum  quarried 
from  a  railroad  blasting  in  Iowa,  fashioned  into  the 
semblance  of  physical  man  under  cover  of  a  tumble 
down  shed  in  Chicago,  and  no  more  worthy  either 
of  scientific  notice  or  popular  attention  than  the 
plaster  duplicate  cast  in  partial  imitation  of  it  which 
Barnum  was  showing  in  New  York  as  the  original, 
thus  piling  fraud  on  fraud.  Dunbar's  investigation 
had  borne  out  the  stone-cutter's  recital.  He  had 
learned  from  Rheinhardt  how  careful  Lull's  prep 
arations  had  been  ;  how  clay  models  of  a  recumbent 
figure  of  a  titanic  man  were  moulded  to  the  number 
of  nine  or  ten  before  he  was  satisfied ;  how  assidu 
ously  he  worked  on  a  form  and  a  pose  that  would 
answer  the  requirements  of  a  piece  of  ancient  stat 
uary  should  the  pretence  of  a  petrifaction  prove 


210  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

untenable  ;  how  this  compromise  between  natural 
and  artistic  origin  made  the  question  of  providing 
for  hair  on  the  head  a  serious  problem,  finally  de 
cided  by  leaving  the  head  apparently  nude ;  how 
acids  and  writing  fluids  were  used  to  corrode  the 
chiselled  surface  to  give  the  appearance  of  water- 
wear,  and  how  an  ingenious  tool  was  invented  and 
employed  by  Lull  to  pick  the  stone  with  needle 
points,  making  infinitisimal  indentations  which 
under  a  microscope  would  look  like  pores  in 
fossilized  skin. 

"The  pill  was  sugar-coated,"  was  Dunbar's 
laconic  comment  on  this  process. 

"And  the  dear  public  swallowed  it  like  a  sweet 
morsel,"  added  Hillyer. 

It  appeared  from  what  the  stone-cutter  revealed 
that  Lull's  first  intention  was  to  have  the  giant  dis 
covered  in  a  cave  at  Salisbury,  Conn.,  but  on  look 
ing  the  ground  over  he  determined  a  safer  place  of 
burial  could  be  selected,  and  knowing  fossil  remains 
had  been  lately  exhumed  in  Onondaga  county, 
Cardiff  was  fixed  on,  the  exact  spot  to  be  the  farm 
of  Dewell,  who  was  his  relative  by  marriage.  To 
get  the  giant  there  it  was  shipped  by  freight  to  a 
station  near  Binghamton,  where  it  was  loaded  upon 
a  wagon  and  dragged  by  road  eighty  miles,  or 


"A  BIBLE  BACK."  211 

thereabouts,  to  Cardiff,  the  stormy  weather  of  No 
vember  retarding  transportation,  but  favouring  con 
cealment.  This  trip,  consuming  five  days,  was 
timed  to  end  at  night  at  Dewell's  farm,  where  prep 
arations  for  its  arrival  had  already  been  made,  so 
that  with  as  little  assistance  as  possible  it  was  dis 
embarked  and  buried  nearly  a  year  before  its  exhu 
mation.  As  Lull  had  conceived  the  fraud,  he 
carried  out  every  detail  of  its  manufacture  and  dis 
position,  watching  its  progress  from  the  Chicago 
stone-shed  to  the  Cardiff  farm,  but  being  at  pains 
not  to  seem  to  be  concerned  in  it.  As  the  story 
was  unravelled  the  mystery  of  Lull's  hurried  visits 
to  Salina  the  year  before  was  pierced  by  light.  So 
were  Lull's  veiled  offers  to  make  the  eating-house 
keeper  a  showman,  and  that  Dunbar  had  not  mis 
taken  their  import  was  now  apparent. 

No  wonder,  knowing  all  this,  Dunbar  thought 
Hillyer  was  throwing  away  a  golden  opportunity  in 
not  publishing  it  to  all  the  world.  No  wonder 
Aldinger,  knowing  that  he  had  been  led  into  un 
folding  so  deep  a  conspiracy,  should  have  shaken 
in  his  shoes  lest  his  betrayal  of  his  associates  de 
prive  him  of  his  easy  gains.  It  may  be  guessed  he 
did  not  prolong  his  stay  in  Salina  after  he  came  to 
terms  with  Lull.  To  Dunbar  and  Hillyer  it  was 


212  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

also  evident  that  Aldinger  had  not  put  Lull  on  his 
guard  against  exposure.  Lull  manifested  no  sign 
of  uneasiness  when  he  met  Dunbar  the  same  day. 

"  He  was  as  chipper  as  a  lark,"  Dunbar  said  of 
this  last  interview,  adding:  "  He's  on  thin  ice  and 
don't  know  it." 

"And  being  on  ice,  Uncle  Lew,  his  secret  will 
keep,"  was  what  Hillyer  remarked  with  a  laugh. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A  TRADE  FOR  A  CUTTER. 

IT  had  certainly  never  entered  Dunbar's  head 
that  his  young  crony  from  Brooklyn  had  manifested 
anything  save  a  friendly  interest  in  his  daughter. 
If  any  one  having  the  right  of  inquiry  had  asked 
Hillyer  what  was  in  his  mind  when  he  offered  to  be 
the  message-bearer  between  father  and  daughter  he 
would  have  left  no  doubt  as  to  the  indifference  of 
his  feelings,  except  as  they  embodied  his  desire  to 
be  of  gracious  service  to  a  good  friend.  It  had  not 
escaped  the  artist  that  since  Grace  Dunbar  had 
come  under  the  loving  eye  of  his  mother  and  sisters, 
her  father  had  discontinued  his  periodical  visits  to 
Brooklyn,  to  which  visits  he  had  been  accustomed 
to  refer  as  the  chief  delight  of  his  life.  Nor  was 
Hillyer  ignorant  of  the  motive  which  kept  the 
father  aloof  from  his  daughter.  It  was  all  too  plain 
that  Dunbar  was  fearful  his  presence  among  Grace's 
friends  would  put  her  ill  at  ease,  or  in  some  way 
not  clear,  disturb  her  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  her 
enlarged  acquaintanceship.  Dunbar  had  too  often 


214  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

contrasted  his  own  and  his  daughter's  manner  of 
life,  to  hide  the  tenour  of  his  thoughts,  even  had  he 
been  intending  to  be  thus  secretive  with  Hillyer, 
which  was  obviously  not  the  case.  When,  there 
fore,  Dunbar  found  he  was  following  the  course  of 
his  daughter  more  clearly  through  Hillyer's  letters, 
rather  than  through  those  she  wrote,  no  trace  of 
parental  solicitude  for  her  heart-wholeness  ever 
dulled  his  keen  pleasure  in  all  the  little  details.  It 
appeared  Grace  was  frequently  of  the  companies 
the  gayeties  of  which  diverted  the  social  side  of 
Brooklyn.  Under  certain  restrictions  prescribed 
by  the  convent  authorities  she  had  been  widening 
her  knowledge  of  the  world  and  what  the  world 
does,  and  though  she  had  made  no  plunge  into  the 
proverbial  vortex  where  fashion  reigns,  she  had 
come  within  range  of  a  new  life,  and  what  is  more 
proved  her  ability  to  hold  her  own  there.  It  was 
of  Grace's  happiness  in  these  surroundings,  of  her 
sweet  simplicity  as  a  figure  in  them,  and  his  moth 
er's  pride  in  being  permitted  to  have  for  a  charge  a 
girl  altogether  so  charming,  that  Hillyer  wrote  in 
terms  that  would  have  looked  serious  to  another 
than  the  eating-house  keeper. 

"  Our  little  convent  maid  "  (it  was  thus  Hillyer 
spoke  of    Grace)  "  would    be  the  inseparable  com- 


A  TRADE  FOR   A  CUTTER.          215 

panion  of  my  sisters  if  the  convent  would  let  her 
out  of  prison  every  day  of  the  week.  I  would  not 
dare  tell  you,  Uncle  Lew,  how  pretty  Miss  Grace 
is.  You  must  come  down  and  see  how  she  im 
proves.  You  have  no  right  to  be  her  father, 
because  you  neglect  her  shamefully,  and  because 
her  father's  ugliness  is  reversed  in  her  good  looks  ! 
My  mother  wants  me  to  say  to  you  that  Miss 
Grace  is  just  as  simple  and  sweet  in  manner  as  she 
is  simple  and  sweet  in  face — as  a  young  girl  ought 
to  be.  Convent  training  is  a  great  thing.  I  am  no 
musician  myself,  but  people  who  know,  say  she 
sings  beautifully  and  plays  the  piano  with  no  little 
skill.  I  told  her  the  other  day  my  plan  for  some 
day  writing  a  book  about  you — you  remember  you 
said  if  I  did  I  would  be  arrested  for  '  shoving  the 
queer '  and  would  have  to  spend  the  rest  of  my 
life  'playing  checkers  with  my  nose  at  Sing  Sing.' 
You  daughter  doesn't  think  so.  She  says  she  will 
help  me,  and  though  I  hate  to  say  it,  I  fear  I  am  in 
a  tight  box,  for  Miss  Grace  thinks  you  are  such  a 
great  man  (I  tell  her  she  doesn't  know  you)  that 
before  I  get  through  (if  she  helps)  I  shall  be  writing 
a  biography  of  another  Abe  Lincoln." 

It  had  been  arranged  that  Grace  should  spend  the 
Christmas  holidays  with  the  Hillyers,  and  Dunbar 


216  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

had  half-promised,  after  much  persuasion,  to  run 
down  for  a  day's  stay,  the  especial  provision  being 
agreed  to,  that  he  should  "  take  care  of  himself,"  at 
the  Astor  House. 

With  the  departure  of  the  Cardiff  Giant  the  town 
of  Salina  had  settled  back  to  its  accustomed  ways 
and  Dunbar  had  settled  back  with  it.  At  the 
Salina  House  there  were  still  occasional  references 
to  the  giant,  or  to  speak  accurately  to  the  giants, 
for  traffic  in  the  fraud  had  proved  so  alluring  that 
imitations  of  the  "only  genuine"  article  in  that 
line  had  appeared  in  nearly  every  museum  and 
travelling  circus  in  the  land.  Actual  knowledge  of 
the  spurious  character  of  the  giant  unearthed  at 
Cardiff  was  not  common,  it  is  true,  except  that  it 
was  known  to  have  come  in  a  box  to  the  Dewell 
farm  by  four-horse  team  from  a  railroad  station 
near  Binghamton.  Then  the  scientists,  smarting 
under  the  imposition  put  on  them,  turned  upon  it 
with  wolfish  ferocity  and  produced  a  thousand 
evidences  of  its  palpable  worthlessness.  Salina's 
pride  began  to  wince  under  the  ill-fame  it  had  in 
herited  with  the  giant.1 

"Take  it  easy,"  was  Dunbar's  admonition  in  the 
face  of  this  sentiment.  "  We've  lived  through  the 
cholera  plague  which  was  worse.  We'll  stand  this 
storm — it  won't  be  long — and  anchor  by  and  by." 


A  TRADE  FOR  A  CUTTER.  217 

So  it  happened.  The  Cardiff  Giant  faded  out  of 
the  vista  of  Salina's  activities.  The  town,  or  such 
part  of  it  as  furnished  the  impulse  by  force  of  which 
it  throbbed,  took  more  interest  in  Dunbar's  sorrel 
mare,  which  that  winter  began  kicking  up  the  snow 
in  the  face  of  all  comers.  The  knowing  ones 
among  the  horsemen  were  wondering  if  Crazy  Jane 
would  make  a  trotter.  To  tell  the  truth  Dunbar, 
who  was  not  often  beguiled  by  strange  fancies  re 
garding  horses,  was  puzzled  to  answer  the  many  in 
quiries  which  followed  the  public  trials  of  the 
nervous  little  mare.  Salina  had  produced  a  few 
horses  which  in  their  day  had  poked  their  noses 
under  the  wire  in  fast  time,  but  Dunbar  was  saying 
this  winter  that  he  had  something  "  by  way  of  a 
race  horse  "  which  was  going  to  "  make  Dexter  let 
out  tucks." 

Dunbar  was  not  telling  by  what  stroke  of  good 
fortune  he  had  placed  Crazy  Jane  in  his  stable. 
The  mare  appeared  one  day,  when  the  town  was 
racing  its  best  mettle  on  the  snow  track,  drawing  a 
resplendent  cutter,  the  goose-neck  of  which  was  a 
blaze  of  gilt,  held  at  either  side  by  elaborately 
carved  eagles'  heads.  Its  like  as  a  gentleman's 
vehicle  had  never  slipped  through  Salina's  streets. 
The  mare  had  not  performed  handsomely  that 


2i8  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

day,  but  she  showed  a  gait  once  or  twice  that 
rivetted  attention  on  her,  especially  as  Dunbar  was 
holding  the  reins.  He  was  under  his  own  vine  and 
fig  tree  at  the  eating-house  that  night,  and  a  number 
of  curious  friends,  and  some  others,  dropped  in  to 
ask  what  he  had.  If  a  man  was  behind  a  horse  in 
Salina,  no  interpreter  need  go  into  dictional  details 
about  the  phrase  "  What  you  got  ? "  It  always 
meant  the  same  thing. 

It  was  plain  Dunbar  was  feigning  when,  this 
question  being  put  to  him,  he  immediately  began 
talking  about  his  new  cutter. 

"  It  is  some  pumpkins,  ain't  it  ?"  he  said  dryly. 

"  She  looks  as  if  she  could  go  ?  "  Lawyer  Bart- 
lett  remarked,  and  he  knew,  for  he  had  smart 
horses  of  his  own. 

"  Go  ? "  answered  Dunbar.  "  Go  ?  Runners 
greased  with  oil  from  the  slippery  elm  tree  growin' 
on  the  banks  of  Petroleum  creek." 

"  Where  did  you  get  her,  Lew  ?  "  was  the  next 
interrogatory. 

"  Traded." 

"  Any  pedigree,  Lew — who's  get  is  she  ?  "  This 
question  to  force  Dunbar  to  talk  about  the  horse, 
not  the  cutter. 

"  No  ped-i-gree,  but    a   great  guar-an-tee.     War- 


A  TRADE  FOR  A  CUTTER.  219 

ranted  to  last  one  hundred  years,  if  not  used  for  a 
stone-boat.  Hand-made  and  hand-painted,  as  light 
as  a  lady's  fan  and  as  strong  as  an  iron-bound 
trunk." 

"  I'm  talking  about  the  nag,  Lew,  not  the  cutter, 
and  I'm  not  saying  the  cutter's  not  a  beauty," 
Bartlett  said. 

"O,  the  mare?"  drawled  Dunbar,  "  O,  she's 
nuthin'  much.  Jest  a  dung-hill  from  over  Bald- 
winsville  way.  Got  her  to  boot  in  the  trade  for  the 
cutter.  Traded  for  the  cutter." 

"  Come  now,  Lew,  what  you  got?  " 

"  Yes,"  chimed  in  the  crowd,  "  what  you  got?" 

"  Not  much  for  looks,  is  she  ?  "  was  Dunbar's  re 
ply.  He  knew  it  was  a  challenge  to  tell  all  that 
had  been  thrown  down.  "  But  I  ain't  countin'  on 
that.  The  mare  don't  stand  me  in  much  in  the  deal 
for  the  cutter." 

"  Maybe  she's  been  on  the  track,  eh,  Lew  ?  "  sug 
gested  Lawyer  Bartlett,  again  falling  into  his 
natural  habit  of  cross-examination. 

"  Maybe,"  rejoined  Dunbar.  "  You  and  me've 
seen  as  skinny  ones  tryin'  to  earn  their  keep,  haven't 
we?" 

"  What  you  got,  Lew  ?     Honest  Injun,  now." 

"  Put  up  your  cork-screws,  gents,"  Dunbar  made 


220  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

reply.  "  I  might's  well  unbosom  myself  now's  any 
time ;  if  I  don't  I  know  you  won't  let  me  live  in 
town." 

With  the  sigh  that  always  accompanies  an  ap 
peased  curiosity  the  company  drew  closer. 

"  Well,  the  mare  come  to  me  in  a  dream,"  he  be 
gan. 

"  In  a  dream,  eh  ? "  cried  Conductor  Ashley. 
"You  always  sleep  with  one  eye  open,  Lew." 

"  She  come  to  me  in  a  dream — she's  a  sort  of 
night-mare,  d'ye  see?  Now  as  to  her  get,"  Dunbar 
went  on,  turning  to  Lawyer  Bartlett,  "  I  judge  she's 
part  Ken-tucky  bred  and  part  saw-horse—kinder  git- 
up-and-git.  Anyways  that's  what  I  think.  Nerv 
ous  ain't  no  name  for  her,  'cause  why,  the  fellow 
who  traded  cutters  with  me  wouldn't  keep  her  no 
how.  Lawyer  Bartlett's  not  off  the  track  when  he 
says  she  looks  as  if  she'd  been  tried  a  mite  in  front 
of  a  sulky.  She's  done  some  trottin',  they  tell  me, 
but  not  much  to  speak  on.  Hard  to  handle,  d'ye 
see  ?  Iron  won't  hold  her  down.  But  you  know 
horses  are  like  men-folks — have  their  whims  and 
their  wrinkles.  A  nag  that's  good  for  you,  won't 
do  for  me.  I've  an  idea  I  can  make  Crazy  Jane 
mind,  'cause  why,  I'm  not  goin'  to  get  on  her  nerve. 
She  can  jig  along  some,  if  you  took  notice  to-day, 


A  TRADE  FOR  A  CUTTER.          221 

and  pre-haps  she'll  make  a  good  family  horse  if  she 
don't  turn  out  a  fast  one.  Anyways  I  took  her  to 
boot  for  the  cutter — and  a  small  con-sideration  in 
coin — and  while  I'm  seein'  what  she's  made  of,  I 
can't  be  doin'  no  harm.  And  you'll  please  make 
a  note  of  it,  nobody  in  this  here  potato  patch  is  bob 
bin'  round  in  a  finer  cutter  than  your  Uncle 
Lew's." 

"  Going  to  enter  the  mare  in  the  races  next  sum 
mer,  Lew  ?  "  Lawyer  Bartlett  inquired. 

"  No  one  can  tell  what  the  morrer  will  bring 
forth,"  was  the  reply. 

"  You've  been  about  everything  in  your  day, 
Uncle  Lew,"  put  in  the  conductor.  "  But  I  never 
heard  you  say  you  drove  a  race-horse  ?  " 

"  Once,  in  Cairo,  Illinois,  but  it  ain't  the  instru 
ment  in  the  brass  band  I'm  cut  out  for,  and  if  Crazy 
Jane  shows  speed,  I  guess  I'll  have  to  do  the  elegant 
as  the  owner  and  let  the  drivin'  pass  to  some  one 
who  knows  better  how  to  do  it." 

"That's  a  rich  man's  pastime,"  said  Bartlett. 
"  Only  men  with  big  piles  of  money  can  keep  trot 
ting  horses." 

"  Well,  as  to  that,"  quickly  responded  Dunbar, 
"  as  to  that,  don't  let  it  escape  your  ob-ser-va-tion 
that  riches  and  havin'  money's  two  different  things. 


222  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

Now,  take  me  and  Sam  Lorin',  and  he  pays  the 
biggest  income  tax  in  town.  He's  got  more  money'n 
I  have,  but  I'm  richer  than  he  is.  Whoopee! 
It's  what  you  get  out  of  life,  not  what  it  gets  out  of 
you.  Horses  were  made  to  drive,  weren't  they  ? 
Well,  who  says  I  wa'n't  made  to  drive  'em  ?  On 
God's  green  earth  there's  nuthin'  livin'  and  breathin' 
that  beats  a  horse  when  it  has  suthin'  in  it  that  you're 
tryin'  to  get  out.  You  know  what  I  mean,  and  so 
does  the  horse  if  it's  wuth  its  fodder.  You  want  to 
go  jest  a  leetle  faster  and  the  horse  wants  to  show 
you  he's  game — a  game  horse  does.  It's  the  sportin' 
blood  in  his  veins,  and  man  or  horse  without  it's  no 
better'n  a  handful  of  Confederate  money." 

There  was  sporting  blood  enough  in  Salina  to 
make  this  declaration  of  principles  generally  accept 
able.  Its  impulses  kept  the  owner  of  Crazy  Jane 
on  the  keen  edge  of  expectancy  during  the  whole 
winter.  It  was  obvious  the  cutter  trade,  especially 
what  Dunbar  had  "  to  boot  "  in  that  transaction, 
was  monopolising  his  attention,  to  the  disadvantage, 
too,  of  the  eating-house,  which  he  was  roundly  be 
rated  for  neglecting  by  the  faithful  Mrs.  Dobson, 
who  was  second  in  command  of  the  establishment, 
as  she  had  been  for  many  years. 

"  O,  you  run  the  she-bang,"  Dunbar  told  her,  "  and 


A  TRADE  FOR  A  CUTTER.          223 

I  won't  say  a  word.  Jest  re-member  one  thing — in 
this  business  don't  make  both  ends  meet,  that's  all. 
Don't  let  both  ends  meet.  When  a  basket  full  of 
eggs  or  a  firkin  of  butter  comes  in  at  the  front  door, 
run  '  round  to  the  back  door  and  see  it  don't  get  out. 
I  know  you  and  you  know  me.  Let  the  eatin'-house 
worry  along.  We  won't  starve,  not  by  a  long  sight." 

It  was  because  Crazy  Jane  was  in  the  veterinary's 
care  for  a  few  days  at  Christmas  time  that  Dunbar 
broke  the  half  promise  he  had  made  to  be  in  Brooklyn 
at  that  season,  and  though  Grace  was  sorely  disap 
pointed,  Hillyer  discreetly  refrained  from  express 
ing  an  opinion  as  to  the  real  reason.  He  sharply 
rebuked  Dunbar  for  his  bad  conduct,  and  ventured 
very  close  to  a  statement  of  the  truth  when  he 
wrote  that  he  believed  Dunbar  was  inventing  a  flimsy 
excuse  to  avoid  making  the  trip.  This  was  as  near 
as  the  artist  dared  get  to  calling  Dunbar's  diffidence 
foolish  pride. 

"  If  I  did  not  know  you  as  well  as  I  do,  Uncle 
Lew,"  Hillyer  wrote,  "  I  am  a  sinner  if  I  would  not 
believe  you  thought  more  of  that  horse  of  yours 
than  you  do  of  your  daughter.  Fortunately  for  her 
she  has  friends  here  in  Brooklyn  who  do  think 
something  of  her,  and  even  though  disappointed,  as 
we  all  are,  that  you  have  flunked,  Miss  Grace  is  hav- 


224  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

ing  a  good  time.  She  told  us,  of  course,  how  hand 
somely  you  remembered  her  for  Christmas,  but  if 
she  has  written  you  all  the  nice  things  she  said 
about  her  father,  she  has  made  a  mistake,  because 
she  may  make  you  think  you  can  buy  a  daughter's 
forgiveness.  As  she  will  not  see  this  letter,  I  do 
not  mind  saying  also  that  you  are  a  very  decent 
kind  of  a  father.  All  that  Miss  Grace  has  done  for 
us  here — yours  truly  included — was  lovely,  and 
nothing  was  sweeter  than  her  remembrances  to  the 
sisters  at  the  convent.  If  I  was  the  father  of  such 
a  daughter,  Uncle  Lew,  I  would  go  round  the  world 
to  see  her.  We  only  asked  you  to  come  to  Brook 
lyn." 

Dunbar  might  have  taken  this  chastisement  with 
poor  grace  had  he  not  been  as  indulgent  of  Hillyer 
as  Hillyer  was  of  him.  The  two  men  understood 
each  other,  though  it  must  be  admitted  Dunbar  was 
not  to  be  twitted,  never  so  cautiously,  when  his 
daughter  was  concerned,  without  imperilling  his 
even  temper. 

In  this  letter  Hillyer  told  him  so  much  that 
warmed  his  heart,  he  had  no  chance  to  contemplate 
even  the  lightest  touch  of  his  friend's  raillery.  The 
visit  of  Grace  to  the  Hillyers  had  been  occupied  by 
a  season  of  merriment  such  as  a  girl  of  eighteen  of 


A  TRADE  FOR  A  CUTTER.  225 

greater  experience  would  have  thought  supremely 
blissful.  Besides  there  had  been  a  maturing  of 
plans  for  the  coming  summer's  expedition  to  Europe, 
the  prospect  of  which  was  like  a  dream  of  never-to- 
be-realised  happiness  !  In  this  strain  Grace  wrote 
to  her  father  of  the  plans  in  detail.  Mr.  Hillyer,  it 
appeared,  was  to  join  the  party  during  their  sojourn, 
a  fact  not  mentioned  by  the  artist  in  his  letters  to 
Dunbar.  Though  Grace  expressed  unrestrained  de 
light  at  this,  it  escaped  the  father's  notice,  possibly 
as  a  commonplace.  Had  his  powers  of  penetration 
been  as  restlessly  searching  as  they  were  wont  to  be 
— or  were  when  others  than  Grace  came  within 
range — he  might  have  taken  note  that  Mr.  Hillyer's 
kindnesses  and  attentions  were  frequently  men 
tioned,  and  that  the  artist  never  seemed  far  away 
when  Grace  was  in  the  fullest  enjoyment  of  herself. 
Another  thing  Dunbar  missed  the  significance  of — 
the  gradual  omission  from  Hillyer's  letters  of  the 
praises  he  formerly  sang  of  Grace.  There  was  a 
deal  more  of  what  would  have  been  detected  by  a 
watchful  mother,  for  instance,  as  conventional  re 
straint,  in  the  artist's  references  to  the  girl.  A 
watchful  mother  would  surely  have  had  her  opinions 
in  the  premises,  and  governed  herself  accordingly. 
Dunbar's  knowledge  of  human  nature  fell  incon- 


226  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

tinently    short   of   this  emergency.       Not  so  Mrs. 
Hillyer's. 

"  Robert's  choice  will  be  mine,"  was  what  she 
said  when  this  subject  was  first  broached  by  her 
daughters,  with  such  show  of  glee  as  sisters  have 
made  from  time  immemorial  under  like  circum 
stances.  It  appears  there  was  a  watchful  mother  in 
Brooklyn. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

PARTED    FRIENDS. 

THE  ponderous  hulk  of  an  ocean-going  steam 
ship  scraped  against  the  side  of  her  berth.  All 
the  noises  common  to  human  and  mechanical 
vocalism,  the  inseparable  accompaniment  of  a 
ship  setting  sail,  were  making  confusion  worse  con 
founded.  A  stream  of  people  ascending  a  gang 
plank  were  intent  on  finding  their  own  places  and 
a  stream  of  others  more  numerous  still,  were  intent 
on  finding  places  for  the  final  consignment  of 
freight  with  which  the  great  vessel's  hold  was 
being  filled.  Of  the  former,  but  through  the 
latter  passed,  with  no  small  amount  of  pains,  the 
touring  party  from  the  Hillyers'  home.  They  had 
penetrated,  unharmed  by  backing  trucks,  hurrying 
stevedores,  excited  fellow-passengers  and  swaying 
pulley-blocks,  to  the  foot  of  the  gang-plank,  led  by 
Robert  Hillyer  and  guarded  at  their  rear  by  Lewis 
Dunbar.  The  prices  at  which  the  flowers  offered 
for  sale  on  the  pier  were  being  sold  proclaimed 
more  eloquently  than  anything  else  in  sight  in  that 


228  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

tangle  of  moving  commerce  that  it  was  a  day  in 
May.  No  tree  in  tender  leaf,  no  stretch  of  green 
sward  down  there  where  Nature  stands  for  naught, 
marked  the  season's  advent.  It  was  rather  as  if 
the  hardness,  the  cruelty,  the  bitterness  of  Winter 
rested  on  and  dominated  the  scene.  Tearful  part 
ings  were  drowned  by  the  merciless  din  that  swept 
over  it.  There  was  no  heed  as  to  whether  the  ship 
should  make  her  port  so  long  as  she  took  on  her 
load.  Apprehensions,  crying  aloud  in  hundreds  of 
breasts,  were  crushed  by  the  seemingly  tireless 
haste  to  turn  an  argosy  of  souls  into  a  commercial 
profit.  Sentiments  and  feelings  and  heart-throbs 
struggled  in  vain  amidst  a  chaos  of  clanking  chains, 
creaking  ropes,  rolling  bales,  rumbling  boxes,  the 
shrill  cries  of  men  giving  orders,  the  hissing  of 
steam  and  the  tumult  of  many  voices  saying  every 
thing  but  farewells.  To  get  the  ship  away,  stagger 
ing  under  her  cargo  of  life  and  of  freight,  animated 
everybody,  while  no  thought  was  spared,  it  ap 
peared,  for  the  pain  it  cost  this  one  to  go,  that  one 
to  stay,  and  all  to  part. 

Dunbar  and  Hillyer  had  left  their  charges  buried 
in  flowers  in  their  staterooms — the  last  warning 
having  been  given  to  visitors  to  get  ashore — and 
were  awaiting  the  casting-  loose  of  the  cables  at  a 


PARTED  FRIENDS.  229 

point  of  vantage  on  the  pier.  Dunbar  had  come 
dangerously  near  buying  out  a  flower  stand  to 
testify  to  Mrs.  Hillyer  and  her  daughters  the  grati 
tude  he  felt  they  had  earned  on  this  occasion. 
Hillyer's  remembrances  were  already  in  the  state, 
rooms  when  these  were  opened  to  their  occupants 
by  the  cabin  steward.  Dunbar  had  fairly  lugged 
his  on  the  ship. 

"  You  see,  Pro-fessor,  I  never  took  a  hand  in  a 
game  like  this,"  Dunbar  said  to  Hillyer.  "  On  the 
Mississippi  when  a  boat  sails  flowers  ain't  on  the 
bill-of-fare.  If  you'd  told  me,  I'd  have  made  her 
careen  with  the  blossoms  of  May.  I  guess  the  old 
man's  got  lots  to  learn." 

"  You've  done  your  duty  nobly,  Uncle  Lew," 
Hillyer  rejoined,  "  and  when  it  comes  to  learning, 
most  of  us  could  be  taught  generous  thoughtfulness 
by  you." 

The  bounteous  offerings  Dunbar  had  brought  to 
the  ladies  had  provoked  profusest  thanks,  and 
Grace,  proud  to  the  last  degree  of  her  father's 
politeness,  had  showered  him  with  kisses.  As  he 
recalled  the  incident,  he  could  not  remember  when 
she  had  ever  unbent  so  far.  The  timidity,  almost 
fear,  of  her  early  girlhood  was  absent  from  the  part 
ing  on  shipboard.  Dunbar  had  broken  through 


230  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

the  barrier  of  his  own  making,  and  the  evening  be 
fore  had  actually  gone  to  the  Hillyers'  to  spend 
the  only  available  time  with  Grace,  rather  to  the 
discomfort  of  the  artist,  who  wondered  if  he  had  not 
stood  in  his  own  light  in  insisting  on  Dunbar's  visit 
the  night  before  her  departure.  Grace's  store  of 
filial  love,  too,  was  apparently  inexhaustible,  for 
she  had  eyes  for  no  one  but  her  father  from  the 
moment  he  met  them  on  the  pier  to  the  last  glimpse 
it  was  possible  to  have  of  him  as  the  ship  steamed 
seaward.  Hillyer  found  his  sole  satisfaction  in 
keeping  at  Dunbar's  elbow  and  convincing  himself 
that  Grace's  wild  gesticulations  were  fond  enough 
to  be  shared  and  shared  alike. 

Carried  away  by  the  excitement  of  the  scene 
Hillyer,  slapping  his  friend  on  the  back,  had  said  : 

"By  Jove,  Uncle  Lew,  but  she's  a  beautiful  girl. 
I  shall  miss  her  awfully — miss  her  and  mother  and 
the  girls.  You  old  rascal,  you  don't  know  what  a 
treasure  you  have  in  that  daughter  of  yours." 

"  She's  as  good  as  they  make  'em,  I  guess,  as 
good  as  they  make  'em.  I  only  hope,  my  boy,  she 
won't  be  any  trouble  to  your  mother." 

Hillyer  was  full  of  reassurances  on  this  score,  and 
as  they  walked  along,  was  bold  enough  to  inquire 
what,  if  any,  were  Dunbar's  plans  touching  Grace 


PARTED  FRIENDS.  231 

when,  in  the  Autumn,  she  returned  from  Europe. 
Dunbar  confessed  he  was  concerned  on  this  account, 
being  compelled  for  the  first  time  since  he  placed  her 
at  the  convent,  to  assume  a  responsibility  of  truly 
parental  proportions.  He  thought  of  the  gilded 
cross  and  what  a  blessing  it  had  been  to  him. 

It  is  feared  that  Hillyer,  rinding  his  friend  in  a 
serious  quandary  on  account  of  the  unanswered 
question,  goaded  him  a  bit.  Dunbar  said  he  sup 
posed  he  might  make  provision  for  her  so  she  could 
live  in  New  York  and  pursue  her  musical  studies,  a 
suggestion  that  did  not  strike  him  as  absurd  until 
Hillyer  pointed  out  how  impossible  it  was.  Salina, 
for  her,  Dunbar  interposed,  was  out  of  the  question. 

"Then,"  put  in  Hillyer,  "you  must  move  away 
from  there,  or  else — or  else — why  Miss  Grace  must 
marry." 

The  artist  waited  for  the  effect  of  this  speech. 
It  was  answered  by  silence. 

"  Girls  sometimes  marry,  you  know,  Uncle  Lew, 
and  Miss  Grace  is  not  likely  to  escape  the  general 
fate." 

"  Wish  I  could  find  a  man  good  enough  for  her, 
but  that's  a  game  in  which  you  can't  cut  for  deal," 
was  Dunbar's  reply. 

It  was  on  the  end  of  Hillyer's  tongue  to  say  he 


232  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

could  save  his  old  friend  the  trouble  of  looking 
further,  but  instead,  he  took  counsel  of  his  better 
discretion,  he  thought,  and  remarked  as  noncha- 
lently  as  possible  : 

"Then  you  have  thought,  Uncle  Lew,  that  Miss 
Grace  and  you  will  have  to  separate  in  the — in  the 
— in  the,  well,  the  natural  course  of  events?" 

"Thought  of  it,  my  boy,  thought  of  it?"  said 
Dunbar,  as  he  caught  Hillyer  by  the  arm  and 
stopped  dead  on  the  sidewalk,  "  why  that's  all  I 
think  about.  But  it  ain't  fear  of  losin'  her — if  it's 
on  the  square — which  bothers  me.  It  ain't  that,  no 
sir-ee.  It's  'cause  there  ain't  no  sure  things  in  this 
marriage  game.  I  never  expect  to  have  the  gal 
back.  Her  and  me  don't  trot  in  the  same  class. 
No  one  need  tell  me  that.  No,  Pro-fessor" — as 
Hillyer  made  some  sign  of  disputing  this  oft- 
asserted  difference  in  the  relation  of  father  and 
daughter — "  no,  it  won't  go  down.  I'm  a  good 
father,  that's  what  you're  goin'  to  say,  and  I  won't 
put  up  a  red  cent  you  ain't  right — I  want  to  be,  and 
the  gal  thinks  I  am.  She  thinks  I'm  a  yard  wide 
and  all  wool.  That's  jest  the  way  I'd  have  it,  my 
boy,  jest  the  way  I'd  have  it.  She  thinks  I'm  as 
great  as  the  President  of  the  United  States,  and  I 
know  she's  the  kind  of  a  gal  whose  father  ought  to 


PARTED  FRIENDS.  233 

be  President.  The  trouble  is,  my  boy,  she  got  the 
wrong  start.  Her  cradle  ought  to  have  been  rocked 
in  the  White  House.  Now  what  I'm  wantin'  for 
her's  a  man  who  thinks  she's  as  good  as  I  do,  and 
if  he  ain't  got  a  sou  to  bless  himself  with,  why  if 
he's  on  the  square,  I'll  go  my  pile  on  him — I'll  go 
my  pile  on  him." 

"You're  the  best  judge  of  men  I  ever  met,  Uncle 
Lew,  and  I'll  trust  you  to  find  the  right  man,"  said 
Hillyer  as  they  renewed  their  walk. 

"  The  gal's  got  to  do  the  findin',  Pro-fessor,  not 
me.  And  it  ain't  every  one  can  pick  winners. 
That's  what  troubles  the  old  man.  Any  one  she 
says  suits  her,  suits  me,  for  I'm  not  the  kind  of 
father  to  use  a  curb  bit  on  a  high-stepper.  But  it's 
such  a  long  chance  !  They're  so  apt  to  stack  the 
cards  on  a  beginner." 

"  I  only  wish  I  could  assure  you,  Uncle  Lew,  that 
Miss  Grace  will  make  no  mistake,"  a  remark  which 
Hillyer  was  truly  sorry  he  had  made  the  moment 
it  was  uttered.  To  palliate  the  offence  he  was  in 
haste  to  add  : 

"  I  rather  think,  Uncle  Lew,  Miss  Grace  has  your 
gift  of  selection,  and  will  choose  wisely  when  the 
time  comes.  You  know  there's  no  hurry — no  great 
hurry.  We'll  keep  our  eyes  on  her,  and  as  father 


234  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

and  friend — if  you  don't  mind  me  taking  a  hand — 
try  to  keep  her  headed  in  the  right  direction." 

Dunbar  again  blocked  the  way,  and  placing  his 
hands  on  the  artist's  shoulder  in  an  unconscious  at 
titude  of  affection,  said: 

"  I  was  thinkin'  of  askin'  you,  Pro-fessor,  to  be 
that  much  of  a  friend  to  your  Uncle  Lew.  There's 
good  men  and  bad  men  in  your  world  jest  as  there's 
in  mine.  I  know  my  kind  better'n  I  do  yours. 
Anyways  I'm  afraid  to  trust  myself  in  this  shuffle 
of  the  deck.  My  eye  ain't  as  quick  as  it  used  to  be. 
Then  there're  lots  of  new  tricks  in  the  game  I 
ain't  learnt.  If  you'll  say  you  won't  let  things  go 
wrong,  I'll  b'lieve  you,  Pro-fessor,  and  I'll  feel  a  lot 
happier  about  it." 

"I'll  do  my  very  best,"  was  Hillyer's  response, 
and  it  was  more  in  the  way  he  said  it  than  what  he 
said  which  reassured  his  friend. 

"  Then  we  needn't  worry,"  Dunbar  said  con 
fidently,  as  if  the  future  of  his  daughter  was  now 
safe. 

"  No  one's  more  anxious  to  have  her  do  well  than 
I  am,  Uncle  Lew.  Suppose  we  say,  now  and  here, 
that  I  will  make  it  a  personal  matter.  It's  a  bigger 
responsibility  than  I  have  ever  shouldered,  but 
we're  too  good  friends  to  make  me  stop  at  an 
effort." 


PARTED  FRIENDS.  235 

Dunbar  nodded  a  cordial  assent  to  this  proof  of 
their  relationship.  Hillyer  went  on  : 

"  Now,  old  friend,  you  mustn't  expect  an  angel 
to  pick  out  your  daughter,  but  you  do  want  a  de 
cent  sort  of  chap — " 

"  I  would  like  a  gentleman,  no  more  nor  less." 

"  Well,  let's  say  a  fellow  no  better,  no  worse  than 
I  am." 

Whatever  of  hidden  meaning  there  was  in  this 
suggestion,  it  passed  Dunbar  by,  and  he  gave  sign 
of  unmistakable  approval.  Hillyer  was  already 
marvelling  at  his  own  temerity.  Then  again  he 
felt  it  was  all  very  grotesque,  this  assumption  of 
his,  that  he  was  to  have  any  control  over  the  des 
tiny  of  Grace  Dunbar,  or  that  under  the  conditions 
imposed,  he  would  wish  to  have  such  a  stewardship. 
So  he  closed  the  tender  and  sentimental  discussion 
by  saying : 

"  Uncle  Lew,  you  can  depend  on  me  to  help  you 
to  that  extent." 

They  shook  hands  and  went  on.  In  the  next 
breath  the  conversation  had  shifted  to  the  merits  of 
Crazy  Jane,  and  to  their  exploitation  for  Hillyer's 
private  ear,  Dunbar  gave  instant  tongue  to  his 
quaint  eloquence. 

"  I'm    not   saying  a  word    nowadays   about   the 


236  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

mare  up  in  Salina,"  he  said,  "  but  she's  suthin'  to 
bank  on.  I  never  saw  a  horse  I  couldn't  handle, 
and  if  I  wasn't  quite  a  wizard,  I'd  have  lost  this 
par-ticular  prize-package.  She's  strung  up  as  tight's 
a  fiddle,  and  needs  as  much  pettin'  as  a  kitten, 
but  she's  a  whirlwind  on  four  legs  if  you  treat  her 
right.  She  won't  take  the  gad  no  more'n  a  Phila 
delphia  Quaker'll  take  Jamaica  rum.  But  gosh 
all  fish-hooks  !  she'll  trot  like  a  house  afire — some 
times — not  always,  and  when  she  gets  on  the  track, 
she'll  have  to  be  watched  to  see  she  don't  fool  you. 
I've  a  side  notion  she  can  jig  along  to  make  me  an 
honest  dollar  this  summer,  and  come  wind,  come 
zephyrs,  I  '11  have  a  whack  at  the  money-bags.  At 
her  best  she  scares  me  stiff,  and  give  me  the  worst 
of  her,  she's  a  gay  deceiver.  It's  about  time  for  the 
fun  to  open,  I  know  her  to  the  bone,  and  as  I'm  the 
only  sar-dine  who  does,  I  don't  fret  much  over  the 
spec-u-lation." 

"  Not  an  old  reliable?"  interjected  Hillyer. 

"  But  a  race-horse  jest  the  same,"  said  Dunbar. 
"  And  a  good  wedge  to  open  bank  safes  with. 
Sorry  you  ain't  goin'  to  be  here,  my  boy,  for  there's 
nimble  sixpences  to  be  picked  up  in  followin'  her." 

"  O,  Fll  be  back  from  Europe,  I  hope,  before  the 
summer's  over,  and  unless  you  go  broke,  Uncle 


PARTED  FRIENDS.  237 

Lew,  will  perhaps  have  a  sight  of  the  little  wonder. 
But  I  guess  I'll  save  money  by  being  away.  Crazy 
Jane  might  tempt  a  weak  man  to  wager  his  little 
all.  I  was  not  born  lucky." 

"  It  ain't  the  way  you're  born  that  counts,  my 
boy.  You've  hearn  tell  it  is  better  to  be  born 
lucky  than  rich.  Don't  b'lieve  it.  I've  tried  both, 
and  know.  It  all  de-pends  on  whether  you  call  the 
turn.  Get  that  down  fine,  my  boy,  and  you  can 
forget  you  ever  were  born.  He's  a  cheap  sort  who 
wants  to  put  his  birth  up  for  col-lateral.  You're  no 
such  son  of  a  sea-cook." 

"  No,  Uncle  Lew,  I'm  not,  that's  sure.  I  am  not 
a  Son  of  Malta  either,  and  you  are,  and  I  want 
you  to  tell  me  how  you  came  to  be  one.  You 
promised  me  the  story  when  I  was  in  Salina,  but  I 
never  heard  it.  Let's  go  in  and  have  a  bite  while 
you  spin  the  yarn." 

"  I've  a  gentle  hankerin'  for  a  toothful,"  was 
Dunbar's  reply,  and  the  two  men  turned  into  a 
fashionable  restaurant  in  Broadway.  Dunbar 
seemed  to  be  in  the  very  spirit  of  the  place  in  a 
jiffy.  All  about  him  were  men  of  easy  life,  some 
of  them,  as  the  artist  pointed  out,  among  the  most 
conspicuous  of  the  metropolis'  citizens.  There  was 
a  well-bred  gracefulness,  even  in  the  way  they 


238  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

lounged  in  their  seats,  that  might  have  made  Dun- 
bar's  presence  a  contrast  had  he  not  fallen  so 
readily  into  their  manners.  Hillyer  could  not  help 
remarking  to  himself  at  what  a  disadvantage  his  old 
friend  was  always  seen  when  he  thought  he  must  be 
something  else  besides  his  plain  self.  He  had  been 
all  conscious  awkwardness  the  night  before.  A 
group  of  women  had  made  this  man  of  the  world 
as  uncomfortable  as  a  fish  out  of  water.  Now,  the 
very  posture  of  his  legs  under  the  table  gave  him 
title  to  position  in  such  a  company  as  he  was  in. 
Hillyer,  by  way  of  leading  up  to  reminiscence, 
said  while  their  order  was  being  filled  : 

"  I've  noticed  two  things  about  you,  Uncle  Lew 
— if  you  don't  mind  my  saying  it — that  struck  me 
as  a  bit  odd  in  a  man  of  your  varied  and  extraordi 
nary  experience — you  are  very  moderate  in  your 
potations — in  your  drinking  ;  and  I've  never  heard 
you  swear  enough  to  shock  anybody." 

"  Swearin',  eh  ?  What's  the  use  of  talkin'  to 
heaven  in  the  vernacular  of  hell  ?  Lost  motion,  my 
boy,  lost  motion.  There's  a  good  many  kinds  of 
fool  in  this  world,  but  the  fellow  who  wastes 
breath  swearin'  's  all  kinds.  And  when  it  comes  to 
wettin'  your  whistle,  don't  you  know  a  drunken 
palate  has  no  taste?  Next  to  a  sober  second 


PARTED  FRIENDS.  239 

thought  is  a  third  sober  drink.  It's  on  me  this 
time,  and  while  the  gentlemanly  chemist  is  pre-par- 
in'  the  con-coction  I  will  tell  you  how  I  came  to 
be  a  Son  of  Malta.  You  wanted  to  know." 

"  I  was  about  to  ask  the  favour,"  said  Hillyer. 
"  In  the  first  place  tell  me,  as  I  never  knew,  what 
the  Sons  of  Malta  were,  why  they  were  organized 
and  what  principles  they  espoused." 

"  Guess  again,"  was  Dunbar's  reply.  "  Its  se 
crets  were  buried  and  never  dug  up  again.  There 
was  a  rush  to  jine  and  I  jined — only  members  of 
the  fust  families  got  the  chance.  No  Irish  need 
apply,  as  it  were.  Every  town  in  the  country  had 
a  lodge,  and  it  took  in-flu-ence  to  see  you  through. 
One  night  at  the  Salina  House  I  got  the  counter 
sign.  They  were  goin'  to  send  me  through  the 
blow-hole.  My  friends  in  the  lodge  wanted  me, 
and  they  made  me  think  it  was  better'n  fallin'  into 
money.  Fust-off  I  was  taken  on  a  carriage  ride,  and 
after  they'd  put  blinders  on  me,  I  was  es-corted 
up  a  long  flight  of  stairs  to  the  lodge  room.  I 
heard  heavenly  voices,  but  saw  no  one.  It  turned 
out  there  were  others  who  were  goin'  to  be  born 
again  into  the  Sons  of  Malta.  All  of  us  had  to 
give  our  ped-i-gree,  and  the  recordin'  angels  took 
'em  down  in  a  big  book.  I  sniffed  around  to  see  if 


240  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

I  couldn't  smell  brimstone,  but  I  couldn't  smell  a 
thing.  Soft  entrancin'  music  came  from  inner 
chambers.  The  mystic  songs  of  the  order  were  be- 
in'  chanted  by  far-away  voices. 

"  We  were  in  the  hands  of  the  Grand  Conductor, 
they  told  us,  and  were  started  on  our  way  rejoicin'. 
To  a  dead  march  we  were  walked  like  sheep  to  the 
slaughter  to  the  presence  of  the  Great  Tycoon. 
Great  Caesar's  ghost,  but  it  was  a  dreadful  moment ! 
Then  I  heard  my  own  name  called  among  the  rest, 
all  citizens  of  great  re-nown  in  the  burg.  One  by 
one  we  were  asked  if  we'd  come  of  our  own  free 
will,  and  if  we'd  lay  down  life,  kindred  and  fortune 
to  uphold  the  sacred  cause  of  the  order.  Every 
Son  of  Malta  on  the  anxious  seat  yelled  amen. 
Then  we  were  told  we  were  pledged  to  do  all  and  a 
little  besides  for  the  re-demption  of  Cuba,  the 
bleedin'  isle,  from  the  bloody  grasp  of  the  tyrant 
Spaniard. 

" '  I'm  with  you  body  and  breeches,'  was  my 
answer  to  the  dread  summons  to  arms. 

"  '  Let  it  be  re-corded  !  '  I  heard  a  voice  like  a 
Mississippi  horn  shout,  and  '  Let  it  be  re-corded  ! ' 
sounded  down  the  corridors  of  time  like  a  funeral 
dirge. 

"  My  bosom  was  swellin'  with  pride,  when  some 


PARTED  FRIENDS.  241 

Digger  Injun  on  a  back  seat  wanted  to  know  if  I 
was  of  tested  courage  and  worthy  of  e-lection  to  the 
noble  order.  A  friend — I  knew  his  voice — spoke 
up  for  me,  and  said  no  man  was  braver ;  that  if 
called  on  I'd  lead  the  fight  in  Cuba.  I  didn't  know 
whether  I  would  or  not,  but  jest  then  I  didn't  dare 
to  take  chances,  so  kept  still. 

"Jest  at  this  stage  of  the  game  there  was  a  loud 
knockin'  on  the  door,  and  the  Tycoon  asked  who 
was  at  the  portals. 

"  '  Who  dares  break  in  on  our  solemnity  ?  '  he 
says. 

" '  Most  noble  sir/  says  another  voice  which 
sounded  like  a  dyin'  moan,  '  the  Governor  of  the 
State  and  other  noble  Sons  of  Malta  would  crave 
admission.' 

"  '  The  Governor  is  welcome,'  I  heard  the  Tycoon 
say.  '  Name  the  others.' 

"  And  I  heard  names  that  were  great,  the  very 
greatest.  There  was  a  four  flush  of  dominies,  a 
bishop  and  three  of  his  kind. 

"  '  Admit  'em  all  in  the  name  of  the  Tycoon,'  I 
heard  a  voice  say,  and  then  chains  rattled  and  locks 
clicked  like  a  jail  de-livery.  I  felt  the  blood  rush- 
in'  to  my  head.  I  shook  in  my  shoes.  I  listened 
and  heard  the  pro-cession  of  distinguished  men 


242  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

enter  the  throne  room.  I  knew  the  Tycoon  and 
the  other  Sons  of  Malta  were  standin'  up  to  receive 
the  guests.  Small  fry  like  me  felt  pretty  skinny,  I 
can  tell  you.  Darn  my  buttons,  I  thought  the  cer- 
e-mony'd  never  end.  But  they  got  to  a  wind-up 
by  and  bye. 

"  Then  the  Tycoon  took  up  my  case,  and  put  me 
through  a  course  of  sprouts  that  made  my  hair 
curl.  He  raked  me  from  top  to  bottom,  and 
dragged  out  of  me  all  the  innermost  secrets  of  my 
long  ca-reer.  I  wondered  a  thousand  times  "what 
the  Governor  would  say.  There  was  some  of  my 
histo-ry  that  wa'n't  meant  for  the  camp  meetin',  but 
I  let  them  have  it  for  the  benefit  of  the  cause,  and 
trusted  to  luck. 

"  'The  noble  brother's  been  found  a  fit  candidate 
for  e-lection,'  the  Tycoon  said,  and  you  can  better 
b'lieve  I  was  glad  to  hear  the  news. 

"  '  Let  it  be  re-corded  ! '  shouted  the  Tycoon  and 
down  the  corridors  again  echoed  the  dismal  sounds. 
It  made  a  fellow's  blood  run  cold.  The  others — my 
com-panions  in  crime — were  put  through  the  same 
rigamarole,  and  found  all  O.  K.  Then  we  all  went 
through  the  gulf.  This  was  to  show  we  weren't 
quitters,  and  the  next  day,  the  pace  had  been  so 
hot,  I  couldn't  tell  whether  I'd  been  afoot  or 


PARTED  FRIENDS.  243 

a-horseback.  They  shook  us  up  as  if  we'd  been  in  a 
railroad  col-lision,  and  kept  the  thing  goin'  so  fast, 
I  didn't  have  time  to  catch  my  breath  and  hand  in 
my  re-signation. 

"  We  were  all  re-ported  good  and  true  Sons  of 
Malta,  and  once  more  for  the  cigars,  the  cry  went 
up  and  down  '  Let  it  be  re-corded  ! ' 

"Then  I  found  out  there  was  to  be  an  e-lection 
that  night — some  Son  of  Malta  had  left  for  green 
fields  and  pastures  new,  and  there  was  a  vacancy  in 
the  office  of  the  Grand  L.  E.  J.  A.  I'd  gone 
through  the  fiery  ordeal  so  well,  a  fool  friend  of 
mine  put  me  up  for  the  office  against  three  or  four 
others  who'd  seen  service  as  Sons  of  Malta.  Of 
course,  having  just  been  ini-ti-ated,  there  was  a  big 
row  at  once.  I  couldn't  see  what  was  goin'  on,  as 
they  had  the  blinders  on  still,  but  there  was  fur 
flyin',  I  can  tell  you.  One  man  accused  me  of 
being  a  pro-fessional  burglar,  and  unfit  for  any 
dignity  in  the  order,  'though  he  ad-mitted  I  might 
make  a  good  target  in  Cuba.  You  can  tell  how  a 
decent  man  felt  to  be  hauled  over  the  coals  in  this 
way  with  the  Governor  of  the  State  sittin'  there 
a-listenin'.  And  I  couldn't  open  my  mouth.  They 
made  me  hold  my  hush.  Well,  they  got  to  votin', 
and  there  was  ex-citement  enough  for  a  sewin' 


244  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

circle,  when  the  Tycoon  an-nounced  I'd  received  a 
ma-jority  of  the  votes  and  was  e-lected  in  due  and 
ancient  form  to  the  high  and  honourable  office  of 
Grand  L.  E.  J.  A. 

"  '  It's  a  great  honour,  Mr.  Dunbar/  says  the 
Tycoon,  '  one  which  any  Son  of  Malta  of  years  of 
service  would  appreciate,  to  be  chosen  Grand 
L.  E.  J.  A.  But  you  have  been  chosen  Grand 
L.  E.  J.  A.  on  the  very  night  of  your  in-duction 
into  the  order/  he  says.  '  This  is  an  unparalleled 
honour,'  he  says.  '  I  con-gratulate  you,'  he  says,  '  on 
your  e-lection  as  Grand  L.  E.  J.  A.,  which  being 
interpreted  means  Grand  Long  Eared  Jack  Ass.'  ' 

"  It  was  all  a  joke,  I  see,"  said  Hillyer. 

"Pre-haps  so  !  My  wine  bill  was  $45,"  was  what 
Dunbar  said. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   LITTLE   BOB-TAIL. 

LEWIS  DUNBAR'S  name  was  coming  into  wide 
spread  notoriety  on  the  turf.  Crazy  Jane  was  racing 
in  the  principal  meetings,  and  was  performing  so 
much  at  odds  with  the  traditions  of  the  track  that 
the  papers  were  saying  owner  and  mare  might  be 
named  under  the  same  prefix.  At  the  same  time 
the  eccentric  little  bob-tail  was  a  diverting  feature 
of  every  race  in  which  she  was  an  entry,  as  she  was 
trotting  quarters  at  a  clip  that  equalled  the  best,  with 
the  result  that  the  horsemen  were  beginning  to 
whisper  that  "  that  man  Dunbar  from  Salina  has  a 
ringer  up  his  sleeve."  Dunbar  usually  managed  to 
get  away  with  either  second  or  third  money  in  each 
event,  "  a  division  of  the  spoils,"  as  he  put  it,  which 
seemed  eminently  satisfactory  to  him. 

In  the  race-track  crowds  such  a  man  as  Dunbar 
could  not  fail  to  be  a  figure.  Where  he  stood  there 
was  to  be  found  a  group  of  attent  listeners,  for  he 
was  always  bubbling  over  with  good  humour ;  and 
it  therefore  came  about  naturally  that  the  pool- 


246  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

seller  he  patronised  invariably  had  the  largest 
audience.  It  soon  became  known  that  Dunbar 
placed  bets  on  no  horse  but  his  own,  and  never  save 
on  the  proposition  that  she  would  finish  second  or 
third.  Some  days  he  took  no  part  at  all  in  the  bet 
ting,  a  fact  for  which  old  campaigners  on  the  turf 
could  not  account,  especially  as  on  these  off  days 
Dunbar's  interest  in  the  way  Crazy  Jane  acted 
seemingly  increased  tenfold.  He  would  be  at  the 
stable  when  she  came  out  and  when  she  went  in  to 
pat  her  on  the  flanks,  and  say  an  encouraging  word 
to  Jasper  Jackson,  her  driver,  who  seemed  to  have 
conceived  for  the  strange  beast  an  affection  as  great 
as  Dunbar's. 

The  little  mare  most  assuredly  had  been  won  over 
by  her  owner.  Judged  by  all  the  accepted  stan 
dards  of  form  and  action  Crazy  Jane  was  undoubt 
edly  a  caricature  of  a  race-horse.  Everybody 
laughed  at  her  and  Dunbar  laughed  with  the  rest. 
Nobody  could  help  it,  to  see  such  an  ungainly 
creature,  her  over-large  head  twisted  to  one  side  so 
as  to  make  her  look  down  the  track  out  of  her  one 
good  eye,  her  legs  gyrating  at  a  score  of  angles  and 
her  hoofs  pounding  like  trip-hammers,  matched  in 
a  trial  of  speed  against  the  choice  and  pick  of 
the  blue  bloods. 


THE  LITTLE  BOB-TAIL.  247 

Dunbar  would  watch  his  horse  hoat  after  heat 
from  a  place  inside  the  fence  on  the  quarter-stretch, 
half  way  between  the  distance  and  the  judges' 
stands,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  mare  knew  just 
where  his  beaver  hat  would  appear  at  the  fence,  for 
there  her  watch  eye  would  apparently  light. 

"  Jig  along,  Jane,"  Dunbar  would  say  in  a  coax 
ing  sort  of  tone  that  made  the  marc  steady  like  a 
clock. 

Still  the  talent  of  the  track  wondered  why  en 
trance  money  should  be  wasted  on  a  horse  that 
never  showed  signs  of  being  able  to  head  the  pack. 
Then  Dunbar  would  give  the  ostensible  reason. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  "I'm  a  resid-u-ary  legatee 
horseman.  Crazy  Jane's  part  of  an  estate  which  I'm 
administerin'  for  a  dead  friend." 

This  was  the  new  fiction  he  had  invented.  The 
dream  theory  with  which  he  had  regaled  the  curious 
in  Salina  had  been  abandoned. 

"  You  can't  go  back  on  a  dead  friend,"  he  con 
tinued.  "  My  friend,  who  didn't  know  any  more 
'bout  horses'n  an  angel  in  heaven  knows  about  fried 
eggs,  thought  he'd  a  good  one  in  Crazy  Jane,  but 
he  went  and  kicked  the  bucket  before  he  had  a 
chance  to  race  the  mare.  So  in  his  will,  makin'  me 
the  cus-todian  of  all  his  worldly  goods,  Crazy  Jane 


248  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

was  turned  over  to  me,  with  the  re-quest  of  a  dyin' 
man  to  prove  he  hadn't  made  no  mistake.  It  was 
a  sacred  trust,  you  see,  and  that's  how  I'm  on  the 
race-track  instead  of  attendin'  to  my  le-gitimate 
business  as  the  or-ganist  of  the  village  church.  You 
can  see  how  it  goes  agin  my  grain,  but  I'm  makin' 
as  good  a  bluff's  a  man  of  my  re-ligious  trainin' 
can.  As  for  the  leetle  mare,  I  don't  mind  sayin' 
she  kinder  takes  my  eye,  and  I  may  become  a  sport 
before  I  know  it.  I  know  she  can't  win,  but  she 
can  jig  along  some,  and  just  to  keep  faith  with  my 
dead  friend  I  put  up  a  leetle  money  on  her  now  and 
then.  If  he  was  on  earth  he'd  bet  his  bottom  dollar, 
for  he  was  game  through  and  through.  I'm  doin' 
by  him  as  I'd  be  done  by.  Hear  me  !  " 

Around  the  tables  of  his  eating-house  or  the  desk 
at  the  Salina  House  this  whimsical  explanation  of 
Dunbar's  latest  exploit  would  have  been  taken  at 
its  true  worth.  There  may  have  been  those  in 
stranger  company  who  recognised  this  picture  of  a 
friend's  devotion  as  a  fancy  sketch. 

"  Why  did  I  enter  Crazy  Jane  ?  in  a  fast  class?  " 
Dunbar  had  said,  repeating  an  obvious  question. 
"  Be-cause  I  wanted  to  be  through  with  my  duty  to 
my  dead  friend  as  soon's  possible.  You  understand 
if  he'd  lived  he'd  have  started  the  mare  in  the  forties 


THE  LITTLE  BOB-TAIL.  249 

'stead  of  the  eighteen  class,  where  I  put  her.  He'd 
have  carried  her  through  five  or  six  seasons,  tryin' 
out  the  fat  in  her.  He  thought,  poor  soul,  she 
could  step  off  in  2:18  or  better,  and  would  have 
stuck  to  it  till  she  did,  or  he  went  up  Salt  River. 
Now,  I'm  givin'  the  nag  a  whirl  in  fast  company  for 
a  go-in,  and  as  she  can't  win,  why  I  can  think  at  the 
end  of  the  season,  jest  as  my  dead  friend  did,  that 
Crazy  Jane's  good  for  2:18.  If  she  ain't  timed  I 
can  b'lieve  anything  I  like.  At  the  end  of  this 
season  I'll  re-tire  the  mare  from  the  track  and  call 
her  the  queen  of  the  turf.  If  she  can't  make 
better'n  2:40  I  won't  know  it,  and  what  a  man 
don't  know  won't  hurt  him.  It  costs  like  sin, 
this  racin'  a  horse  for  a  ghost,  but  I'm  not  the 
man  to  go  back  on  a  dead  friend." 

Dunbar  often  wished  Hillyer  had  not  taken  him 
self  off  to  Europe  in  such  a  hurry  after  that  May 
day  in  New  York.  Hillyer  certainly  had  been  in 
extreme  haste,  for  his  departure  to  join  the  touring 
party  had  not  been  delayed  more  than  a  month. 
The  artist  had  not  advised  Dunbar  of  his  sailing  un 
til  he  was  on  the  point  of  taking  ship,  giving  him 
time  only  to  make  Hillyer  the  bearer  of  a  short 
message  to  Grace.  Hillyer  had  written  : 

"  I  feel  the  great  responsibility  you  placed  on  me 


250  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

in  New  York,  and  want  to  be  near  enough  to  its 
object  to  be  sure  of  myself.  I  am  still  looking  out 
for  the  right  man." 

Dunbar  did  not  attempt  to  keep  up  a  correspon 
dence  with  the  travellers,  but  at  Hillyer's  request, 
mailed  in  care  of  a  London  bank  copies  of  the 
newspapers  describing  the  races  in  which  Crazy  Jane 
appeared.  To  Grace  he  wrote  a  few  lines  now  and 
then  to  the  same  address.  Hillyer,  therefore,  under 
a  pretence  of  watching  the  progress  of  the  bob-tail 
mare,  responded  at  length,  as  did  also  Grace,  whose 
summer  was  proving  to  be  the  happiest  in  her 
life. 

Hillyer's  letters  were  infrequent,  of  course,  but 
they  were  full  of  expressions  of  interest  in  the  suc 
cess  of  the  mare.  It  was  this  evidence  of  sympathy 
which  made  Dunbar  wish  his  young  friend  at  hand. 
In  the  one  letter  he  sent  the  artist  he  put  the  matter 
as  forcibly  as  he  could.  Hillyer  was  told  he  was 
fooling  his  time  away  in  foreign  parts  when  more 
was  to  be  seen  on  the  race-tracks  of  his  native 
land. 

"  I  thought  I  knew  a  thing  or  two,"  Dunbar  said 
months  after  in  describing  his  experience  as  the 
owner  of  a  race-horse,  "  but  until  I  got  into  bed 
with  the  jockeys  I  hadn't  cut  my  eye  teeth.  They 


THE  LITTLE  BOB-TAIL.  251 

are  the  gents  who  stay  up  nights  workin'  the  secret 
springs  on  you.  When  the  mare  and  me  begun 
swingin'  round  the  circle,  they  thought  Crazy  Jane 
was  a  milch  cow,  and  wouldn't  touch  me  with  a  ten- 
foot  pole.  The  hull  crew  was  for  givin'  me  the 
worst  end  of  the  game,  and  they  used  to  get  to 
gether  in  every  town  and  di-vide  up  the  money  for 
the  next  day  and  always  left  that  leetle  mare  of 
mine  out  of  the  cal-culation.  It  was  fixed  for  this 
fellow  to  win  fust  money,  another  to  win  second  and 
another  to  win  third.  Then  you  ought  to  see  the 
tricksies  drive  accordin'  to  pro-gramme.  They 
wanted  Crazy  Jane  in  a  pocket,  and  if  that  intelli 
gent  contra-band  of  mine,  Jasper  Jackson,  Esquire, 
hadn't  taken  a  few  lessons  from  your  Uncle  Lew, 
they'd  have  had  him  where  his  hair  was  short.  You 
see  the  mare  was  goin'  like  a  streak  of  greased 
lightnin'  all  the  while,  but  she  wasn't  gettin'  a  mark, 
as  she  was  not  finishin'  fust.  Jasper  was  sendin' 
her  jest  fast  enough  to  pull  down  a  piece  of  the 
purse  every  time.  Pretty  soon  they  com-menced  to 
see  the  mare  was  no  quitter  and  had  a  lengthy  stride 
when  put  to  it,  and  when  they  timed  her  at  the 
quarters,  she  jest  up  and  put  their  eyes  out.  Then 
they  wanted  to  do  business  with  your  Uncle  Lew  ; 
wanted  to  work  gum  games  with  an  honest  man. 


252  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

I  was  to  have  a  share  in  the  plunder  if  I'd  drive 
the  mare  accordin'  to  a  map  they'd  make  the  night 
afore  for  every  race.  What  did  I  say  to  that  ? 
Why  I  said  '  Not  for  Joseph,'  that's  what  I  said,  and 
I  kept  fetchin'  up  right  along. 

"  Then  there  was  another  shuffle  of  the  cards,  and 
I  had  another  look  at  the  wickedness  of  my  fellow- 
men.  They  got  after  Jasper  and  the  mare.  They 
filled  the  nigger  up  with  firewater  one  night,  at  Al 
bany,  and  the  next  day  the  mare  went  lame  on  the 
track.  She  got  the  flag  the  first  heat  and  went  to 
the  stable.  I  had  to  drive  her  myself  next  day  as 
my  imp  of  darkness  was  seein'  snakes.  But  the 
black  rascal  was  up  to  the  larks  of  the  pro-fession, 
and,  as  drunk  as  he  was,  found  the  whyfore  and 
wherefore  of  the  lameness — a  wire  tied  under  the 
fetlock  of  her  nigh  hind  foot.  The  clumsy  sharks 
had  tied  it  too  tight,  and  lamed  the  mare  fust  off. 
They  meant  her  to  feel  it  after  the  race  got  goin' 
but  got  slipped  up.  They  dosed  her  feed  more 
times  than  I  can  re-member,  but  that  Nubian  body 
guard  of  mine,  Jasper  Jackson,  had  a  way  of  tellin', 
and  spiled  the  trick.  But  I  tell  you  it  was  hard 
sleddin',  and  if  there's  a  brace  game  on  God's  foot 
stool,  it's  the  race-track.  It's  playin'  with  marked 
cards  from  start  to  finish.  But  Crazy  Jane  went 


THE  LITTLE  BOB-TAIL.  253 

through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  and 
your  Uncle  Lew  brought  up  the  rear  with  a  she-kel 
or  two  rolled  up  in  his  handkerchief." 

It  was  of  these  things  that  Dunbar  would  have 
Hillyer  know.  The  two  men  took  a  common  de 
light  in  developing  phases  of  human  nature.  Here 
was  one  Dunbar  felt  sure  Hillyer  would  study  with 
infinite  zest.  Together,  he  felt,  they  would  have 
enjoyed  the  experience  immensely.  Dunbar  was 
admittedly  near  the  stage  where  he  placed  con 
siderable  dependence  on  the  sympathy  of  his  young 
friend.  It  was  a  new  emotion,  this  desire  to  share 
all  his  confidences  with  another,  and  he  fairly  rev 
elled  in  it  ;  new  in  the  sense  that  until  he  had  met 
Hillyer  he  had  never  felt  drawn  to  any  man  beyond 
the  bounds  of  good  friendship.  Hillyer  was  not  a 
man  out  of  the  ordinary.  His  own  definition  of 
what  Grace's  husband  might  be — "  no  better,  no 
worse  than  I  am  " — was  his  adequate  measure.  But 
the  artist  used  to  say  the  best  thing  he  could  say  of 
himself  was  that  he  had  won  the  confidence  of  a 
man  like  Lewis  Dunbar. 

Plainly,  then,  Hillyer  was  privileged  to  say  :  "  I 
can't  be  a  half  bad  fellow." 

Who  can  tell  whether  this  pardonable  display  of 
self-approval  was  not  his  support  in  the  artist's  woo- 


254  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

ing  of  Grace  Dunbar?  Hillyer  could  never  make 
up  his  mind  how  it  happened  that  he  was  in  the 
mood  to  woo.  He  knew  that  fondness  for  the  daugh 
ter  was  a  plant  of  slow  growth,  whereas  for  the  father 
he  had  taken  a  strong  liking  at  the  outset.  He  often 
flattered  himself  he  had  a  strong  affinity  for  things 
natural.  Bananas  ripened  by  the  sea  voyage  never 
tasted  to  him  as  they  did  when  he  had  picked  them 
himself  on  a  Cuban  plantation.  Perhaps  that  was 
why  he  leaned  with  so  much  reliance  on  his  judg 
ment  of  the  father  ;  perhaps  the  convent  maid  had 
attracted  him  in  the  same  way. 

It  was  true,   at  all   events,  he  had  crossed  the 
ocean  to  see  if  she  would  have  him. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

"THE   RIGHT   MAN." 

DUNBAR  had  been  accusing  himself  during  the 
summer  of  high  crimes  and  misdemeanours.  In  his 
own  mind  he  was  fearful  lest  his  pursuit  of  gain  on 
the  race-track  had  put  his  daughter  into  second 
place,  and,  it  cannot  be  denied,  Crazy  Jane  had  at 
least  divided  his  interest.  He  said  so  himself,  in  a 
later  fit  of  self-condemnation,  but  smoothed  the 
way  to  an  excuse  by  saying  that  if  he  was  to  blame 
at  all  it  was  in  having  parted  with  Grace  for  so  long 
a  time.  It  is  not  likely,  had  she  remained  in  Brook 
lyn,  her  father  would  have  seen  her  more  frequently, 
but  the  feeling  that  between  them  stretched  the 
boundless  waste  of  the  Atlantic  oppressed  him 
whenever  his  mind  reverted  to  the  subject.  There 
can  be  no  doubt,  the  new  propensity  for  the  turf 
he  had  developed  sprang  as  much  from  a  desire  to 
think  of  something  beside  his  state  of  parental 
isolation  as  from  the  undue  excitement  of  his 
sporting  blood.  Then  Crazy  Jane  had  been  a 
moneymaker  on  the  track,  and  that  was  a  most 


256  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

important  consideration,  as  it  meant  better  provi 
sion  for  the  girl.  Eminently  practical  as  Dunbar 
was  in  most  affairs,  it  never  occurred  to  him  that 
there  was  a  contingency  other  than  one  imperatively 
demanding  of  him  the  acquirement  of  a  substantial 
competency  for  Grace's  use.  This  obligation  to 
accumulate  wealth  was  an  impression  of  his  later 
life,  and  therefore,  as  always  happens  in  such  cases, 
was  the  potent  impulse  of  his  daily  work,  his  cease 
less  effort. 

Dunbar  thought  he  had  planned  for  a  final  stroke 
in  the  racing  compaign  a  demonstration  of  Crazy 
Jane's  gait  that  would  be  the  sensation  of  the  turf. 
It  was  to  make  him  a  winning,  too,  that  would 
secure  the  future  of  his  daughter.  With  singular 
foresight,  he  had  been  building  to  the  coup,  as  week 
after  week  he  had  raced  his  mare  against  the  four 
or  five  horses  to  which  the  sporting  world  was 
looking  for  startling  performances.  The  fastest 
record  for  a  mile  in  harness  had  dropped  by 
fractions  of  a  second  to  a  point  that  seemed 
phenomenal.  Crazy  Jane  had  been  in  this  lively 
company  throughout  the  summer,  but  while  show 
ing  wonderful  speed  by  fits  and  starts,  was  finally 
given  up  as  a  bad  job  by  the  talent,  who  said  she 
was  a  freak,  not  a  trotter.  She  had  no  winning 


"THE  RIGHT  MAN."  257 

qualities,  they  said  ;  no  speed  of  her  own  ;  nothing 
but  an  ambition  to  trail  a  fast  one  ;  a  forced  gait 
that  would  fail  her  if  she  tried  to  lead.  Once  in 
eve.ry  generation,  the  racing  wiseacres  said,  a  horse 
of  this  kind  came  from  no  one  knew  where  and 
went  no  one  cared  where.  They  had  their  proto 
types,  these  dung-hill  wonders,  in  the  urchin  progi- 
dies  who  played  violins  and  accomplished  other 
marvellous  things  at  tender  ages,  and  then — presto 
change  ! — disappeared  off  the  face  of  the  earth.  In 
this  estimate  of  the  capacity  of  the  bob-tail  mare 
with  the  blind  eye  the  talent  were  right,  but  in  not 
giving  credit  to  her  owner  for  knowing  as  much, 
they  were  wrong,  grievously  wrong. 

It  was  these  matters  Dunbar  was  meditating  one 
day  toward  the  end  of  August  when  there  was  for 
warded  to  him  from  Salina  a  letter  from  the  young 
artist.  It  was  just  a  line  or  two  to  say  their  party 
would  sail  for  home  on  a  day  they  fixed  in  September. 
Hillyer  added  that  he  hoped  Crazy  Jane  would 
hold  out  until  then,  as  he  supposed  she  would  be 
entered  at  the  fall  meeting  at  Brooklyn.  He  would 
really  like  to  see,  he  wrote,  what  the  nag  was  like, 
as  the  newspapers  seemed  mystified  to  class  her. 
Dunbar  was  particularly  well  pleased  to  have  this 
news,  as  he  had  planned  to  date  Crazy  Jane's  fame 


258  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

from  that  very  meeting.  To  have  Hillyer  with 
him  would  be  a  genuine  boon.  He  worded  his  de 
light  in  this  way  : 

"  I  want  a  side  pardner.  The  Pro-fessor  will  be 
just  the  cheese.  He'll  come  a  stranger  and  he'll 
take  'em  in." 

This  he  said  to  himself,  of  course,  for  he  was 
keeping  dark  so  far  as  his  racing  plans  were  in 
volved.  Away  from  them  he  walked  in  the  broad 
glare  of  the  noonday  sun.  He  was  a  very  happy 
man.  It  seemed  as  if  Grace  was  already  returning, 
not  a  fact,  but  an  illusion  he  clung  to  as  a  fact. 
He  was  beginning  to  say  it  was  not  a  positive 
necessity  she  should  .marry,  so  long  as  there  were 
means  to  make  whatever  provision  for  her  she 
desired.  Hillyer  was  not  a  father  and  did  not  have 
a  father's  feelings.  They  might  go  to  New  York 
and  live  together,  father  and  daughter,  Dunbar 
argued,  if  she  came  home  as  fond  of  him  as  she 
went  away.  Once  again  he  felt  her  kisses  on  his 
cheek  as  she  had  said  farewell  on  the  ship.  If  he  was 
sure  Grace  would  not  be  ashamed  of  him,  very  sure, 
the  future  could  take  care  of  itself.  Even  Hillyer 
had  said  Grace  worshipped  him  as  a  father. 

"  I  won't  let  'em  stack  the  cards  on  me,  no  sir- 
ee,"  Dunbar  murmured  more  than  once  when  think- 


"THE  RIGHT  MAN."  259 

ing  the  matter  over.     He  was  repeating  the  remark 
this  day,  when  a  telegraph  messenger  handed  him 
an  envelope  marked  "  Cable  Message." 
This  is  what  he  read  : 

Paris,  Aug.  28. 

LEWIS  DUNBAR,  Salina,  (N.  Y.) 
(Forwarded  to  Springfield.) 

Have  found  right  man.    Answer  Paris. 

HlLLYER. 

"  Whoopee  ! "  ejaculated  the  owner  of  Crazy 
Jane  with  so  much  vehemence  that  the  startled 
messenger  dropped  his  book  in  a  cuspidor.  Dun- 
bar  paid  the  forwarding  charges  and  threw  in  a 
generous  gratuity. 

"  Never  knew  I  jabbered  French  be-fore,"  Dunbar 
remarked  to  the  boy,  "  but  you  saw  me  do  it, 
didn't  you,  sonny  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  the  messenger  replied.  "  I  knew  it 
was  from  Paris,  for  they  said  it  was,  and  had  cost  a 
lot  of  money  to  send — nine  or  ten  dollars,  they 
said." 

"  Well,  it's  wuth  it,  every  cent  of  it,  don't  you 
forget  that,"  Dunbar  said.  This  to  the  boy:  "Can 
you  telegraph  back  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  can't,  but  they'll  do  it  over  to  the  office." 

"  You  bet   they  will,"    Dunbar   went   on,    "  and 


26b  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

they'll  grease  the  wires  with  tallow  to  make  the 
thing  speedier.  I'll  pay  the  shot — you  tell  'em 
that,  and  I'll  be  over  right  away." 

It  was  an  hour  later  before  Dunbar  made  his  way 
to  the  telegraph  office  with  what  might  be  called  a 
rough  draft  of  a  despatch  to  Paris.  In  its  prepara 
tion  he  had  struggled  alike  with  the  resources  of  the 
English  language  and  the  natural  emotions  of  a 
father.  As  far  as  he  could  remember  he  had  never 
been  so  much  unstrung.  He  had  been  in  tight 
places  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  times  ;  he  had 
extricated  himself  from  them  "  without  turning  a 
hair ;  "  but  here  he  was  trying  to  indite  a  telegram 
at  an  expenditure  of  mental  force  and  vital  energy 
compared  to  which  his  most  exciting  experiences  on 
the  Mississippi  were  as  boy's  play.  When,  at  last, 
he  handed  to  the  clerk  at  the  telegraph  office  the 
despatch  as  he  had  written  it,  he  was  informed  its 
transmission  would  cost  $57. 

"  Guess  again,  I've  got  a  bigger  roll,"  Dunbar 
cried  as  he  hurriedly  replaced  a  wisp  of  greenbacks 
in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  thrust  his  hand  inside 
the  same  garment  and  drawing  forth  a  thick  pack 
age  of  bills,  banged  it  down  on  the  counter. 

Dunbar,  though  nonplussed  by  the  excessive 
charge,  would  have  paid  it,  had  not  the  clerk  volun- 


"THE  RIGHT  MAN."  261 

tee-red  to  revise  the  wording  of  the  despatch  in  a 
way  to  preserve  its  meaning,  but  curtail  its  cost,  an 
offer  Dunbar  accepted.  It  was  his  first  employ 
ment  of  the  Atlantic  cable.  True  he  had  once 
worn  for  a  watch  charm  a  cross-section  of  braided 
wires  supposed  to  have  been  cut  from  the  sub-ma 
rine  telegraph,  and  could  have  repeated  if  asked 
to  do  so,  the  song,  "  How  Cyrus  Laid  the  Cable," 
which  had  been  on  everybody's  lips  in  celebration 
of  Field's  triumph. 

The  answer  to  Hillyer's  message,  as  finally  pre 
pared  to  Dunbar's  satisfaction,  was  couched  in  these 
words  : 

Springfield,  Mass.,  Aug.  28. 
ROBERT  HILLYER,  Paris. 

All  right.    What's  his  name,  etc.    Answer  Spring 
field. 

DUNBAR. 

It  needed  a  little  persuasion  on  the  part  of  the 
clerk  to  convince  Dunbar  that  the  "etc."  compre 
hended  the  list  of  inquiries  he  had  included  in  the 
original  draft  of  the  telegram.  He  had  written 
"  where  does  he  live?  "  and  "  what  does  he  do  for  a 
living?"  and  "how  old  is  he  ?  "  and  "does  your 
mother  say  he  is  all  right?"  Dunbar  might  have 


262  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

insisted  on  the  preservation  of  his  phraseology  in 
the  main  had  not  it  been  made  clear  to  him  that  an 
answer  by  cable  would  put  his  correspondent  in 
Paris  to  an  outlay  of  sixty  or  seventy  dollars.  Dun- 
bar  suggested  prepayment  of  the  return  message, 
but  this  was  not  feasible,  so  the  abbreviated  form 
went  buzzing  under  the  sea. 

Dunbar  had  time  to  sleep  on  the  turn  of  affairs  in 
his  life.  The  night  brought  no  response,  and  he 
was  so  taken  up  with  the  episode  that  he  entirely 
forgot  his  promise  to  visit  the  stable  where  his  mare 
was  housed  in  order  to  talk  with  the  indispensable 
Jasper  Jackson.  Jackson  would  not  trust  the  horse 
out  of  his  sight.  He  slept  with  Crazy  Jane  and  ate 
with  Crazy  Jane  like  the  faithful  dog  he  was. 

"  That  nigger's  got  a  snow-white  heart,"  was  what 
the  owner  of  Crazy  Jane  said  of  his  man.  "  And 
the  way  Crazy  Jane  takes  to  him  shows  the  mare's 
colour  blind  in  the  only  peeper  she's  got." 

The  fact,  as  already  stated,  that  Dunbar  had  time 
to  sleep  on  what  had  happened  in  Paris,  does  not 
necessarily  imply  that  he  indulged  in  anything  re 
sembling  soporific  contemplation.  Truth  to  tell,  he 
tossed  restlessly  for  a  protracted  period  of  the  night 
on  an  uneasy  pillow.  He  had  believed  there  would 
have  been  ample  protection  against  possible  peril 


"THE  RIGHT  MAN."  263 

to  Grace's  future  in  the  artist's  pledge  of  interest. 
Yet  he  found  himself  in  an  agony  of  doubt.  As 
far  as  it  had  been  from  his  thoughts  ever  to  assert 
his  right  of  supervision  in  such  a  matter,  and  as 
little  as  had  been  the  hope,  even,  that  Grace  would 
have  been  governed  by  his  wishes,  he  wondered  if 
he  had  not  done  wrong  in  allowing  her  to  stray  be 
yond  his  guiding  hand.  As  incompetent  as  he  felt 
himself  to  be,  if  he  were  seriously  to  exercise  the 
usual  prerogatives  of  a  parent,  yet  there  was  a  feel 
ing  around  his  heart  that  told  him  he,  more  than 
any  other,  no  matter  how  dear,  should  stand  at  her 
side  at  this  juncture  of  her  life.  It  was  a  feeling, 
he  knew,  that  had  been  growing  stronger  and 
stronger  within  his  breast.  At  times  he  actually 
made  an  effort  to  resist  its  controlling  power,  fear 
ing  it  might  undermine  the  sturdy,  rougher  man 
hood  of  which  he  was  conscious  he  was  a  type. 
What  had  an  old  sport  like  him  to  do  with  such  non 
sense?  In  the  old  days  on  the  Mississippi  he 
thought  himself  as  callous  to  the  softer  emotions  as 
a  "  wooden  Injun."  As  to  hearts,  they  were  merely 
symbols  on  the  cards  he  held,  valued  according  to 
their  relation  to  "  the  draw." 

"  The  first  thing  I  know,"  he  meditated,  "  I'll  be 
bringin'  my  sewin'  and  stayin'  to  tea;  or  pre-haps 


264  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

be  the  high-cock-a-lorum  in  an  old  folks'  concert. 
Brace  up,  old  man ;  brace  up  and  have  some  style 
about  you." 

Then  he  put  the  question  to  himself :  How 
should  Hillyer  know  who  is  the  right  man  ?  Hill- 
yer  was  a  good  fellow,  lots  of  horse-sense  and  all 
that,  but  he  was  not  a  father;  he  didn't  have  that 
feeling  around  his  heart.  Dunbar  called  himself  a 
fool  for  not  asking  by  cable  what  Mrs.  Hillyer 
thought  of  the  man,  whoever  he  was.  She  was  a 
mother,  and  her  opinion  would  be  worth  something. 
Dunbar  made  up  his  mind  that  Mrs.  Hillyer  should 
be  asked  the  first  thing  in  the  morning. 

The  first  thing  in  the  morning  this  message  was 
laid  in  the  anxious  father's  hand  : 

PARIS,  Aug.  29. 
DUNBAR,  Springfield,  (Mass.) 

We  want  father's  blessing. 

GRACE  AND  ROBERT. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

IN   LOVING  ARMS. 

"  IF  he  isn't  on  that  dock  to  meet  me,  I'll  never 
speak  to  him  as  long  as  I  live — never." 

And  thus  formulating  her  expectation,  a  young 
woman,  whose  rounded  figure  fell  naturally  into  a 
graceful  pose  at  the  taffrail  of  the  incoming  ship, 
strained  her  eyes  toward  the  miles  of  dwarfish 
buildings  on  the  river  front  as  if  she  hoped  to  con 
jure  the  object  in  her  mind's  eye  out  of  the  very 
depths  of  the  vista  by  the  sheer  force  of  optical 
concentration. 

Grace  Dunbar  was  obviously  the  center  of  that 
little  group  on  the  forward  deck.  Others  there 
were  who  peered  as  longingly  toward  the  shore  line, 
but  on  the  spot  where  Grace  stood  radiantly  happy 
beside  her  friends,  there  seemed  to  fall  a  gleam  of 
sunshine  exactly  according  with  the  frame  of  mind 
she  was  in.  Something  in  particular  was  being  re 
served,  it  would  appear,  for  the  young  lovers.  Mrs. 
Hillyerand  the  Hillyer  girls  were,  therefore,  content 
to  be  a  part  of,  but  not  to  take  part  in,  the  scene. 


266  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

Replying  to  the  threat  in  Grace's  ejaculation, 
Robert  Hillyer  said  : 

"  But  he  may  have,  missed  the  train,  or  have  been 
detained  by  business,  or  have  overslept  ;  and  yet 
you  propose  to  punish  your  own  father  as  never 
father  was  punished  before — you  are  never  going  to 
speak  to  him.  Now  as  for  me,  I  have  faith  in 
Uncle  Lew ;  he'll—" 

"  You  called  him  father  in  the  cable  despatch, 
Robert,"  broke  in  the  girl,  with  a  deprecating 
shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"  I  fear,  sweetheart,  he'll  always  be  Uncle  Lew 
to  me,  even  were  he  ten  thousand  times  my  father- 
in-law.  It's  going  to  be  a  hard  task  acquiring  the 
new  habit.  You  know  he's  Uncle  Lew  all  through 
the  book." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  your  book,  sir," 
was  Grace's  reply,  "  and  I've  a  good  mind  to  make 
you — mind,  make  you — let  me  see  it  before  it's  too 
late.  How  do  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say 
in  your  book  about  the  dearest,  the  best  and  the 
kindest  father  that  ever  lived  ?  " 

"  I'm  all  eyes  for  the  crown  jewels  and  the  beaver 
hat,"  Hillyer  said.  "  They're  the  beacon  to  steer 
by." 

Crown  jewels  a-nd  beaver  hat  were  both  in  bold 


IN  LOVING  ARMS.  267 

relief  when,  a  half  hour  later,  the  ship  was  warped 
to  her  moorings.  But  the  luster  of  one  and  the 
sleekness  of  the  other  paled  before  the  kindly  light 
of  parental  love  which  illumined  the  rugged  face  of 
Lewis  Dunbar.  This  light  of  genial  joy  was  efful 
gent  when  Dunbar  held  Grace  in  his  arms,  as  he 
did  for  a  moment  after  the  party  landed.  Even 
before  he  released  her  from  the  embrace,  his  hand 
was  outstretched  to  grasp  that  of  his  young  friend. 
It  was  a  grip  of  steel,  but  warm  to  the  touch,  and 
the  one  glance  he  threw  from  the  entranced  face  of 
the  girl  into  the  open  gaze  of  the  man,  told  of  the 
happiness  that  was  in  the  father's  heart.  There 
was  nothing  more  to  be  said.  No  emphasis  was 
imparted  to  the  scene  by  the  almost  impulsive 
movement  which  passed  Grace  fairly  within  the 
curve  of  Hillyer's  extended  arm.  Words  he  had 
none,  though  Grace  showered  her  father  with  en 
dearing  speeches,  and  he  was  equally  dumb  when 
he  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Hillyer  and  her  daughters. 
Mrs.  Hillyer  was  most  urgent  in  her  invitation  to 
Dunbar  that  he  should  dine  with  them  all  that 
evening,  and  to  the  artist's  surprise,  as  well  as  grat 
ification,  the  invitation  was  accepted.  It  was  the 
first  time  Grace's  father  had  broken  bread  with  the 
Hillyers,  and  the  gracious  hostess  was  not  alto- 


268  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

gether  at  her  ease,  as  her  aggravating  son  warned 
her  of  the  epicurean  fastidiousness  of  her  guest. 
Mrs.  Hillyer  was  told  that  whatever  shortcomings 
it  might  be  possible  to  detect  in  Dunbar's  ways,  his 
appreciation  of  good  cookery  could  not  be  matched 
by  many  of  the  men  who  assumed  to  make  high 
living  a  specialty.  Mrs.  Hillyer  was  extremely 
fearful,  therefore,  that  she  had  done  herself  a  gross 
injustice  as  a  housekeeper  by  asking  a  gourmet  to 
her  board  to  dine  in  a  household  obviously  dis 
organized  by  the  long  absence  of  its  head.  But  the 
good  lady  might  have  spared  herself  concern  on 
account  of  the  delicacy  of  Dunbar's  palate.  The 
roast  might  have  been  overdone,  and  the  claret  as 
muddy  as  a  ditch  pool,  for  all  of  him  that  night. 

Grace  had  so  much  to  tell,  and  her  father  was  so 
bent  on  hearing  it,  that  nothing  else  was  in  order. 
A  thousand  times,  or  so,  the  rapture  of  the  girl 
over  what  she  had  seen  ended  in  acknowledgments 
of  what  Mrs.  Hillyer  and  her  daughters  had  done 
for  her,  and  to  these  bursts  of  gratitude  Dunbar 
made  solemn  bows  around  the  circle,  for  utter  lack 
of  words  to  fit  the  occasion. 

If  anything  was  wanting  to  make  Dunbar  irre- 
pressibly  happy  it  was  Mrs.  Hillyer's  announcement 
that  it  had  been  agreed,  provided  he  consented, 


IN  LOVING  ARMS.  269 

that  Grace  was  to  remain  with  them  until  the  wed 
ding,  when  she  was  to  be  installed  in  her  own  home, 
the  quest  of  which  was  to  begin  at  once. 

"You'll  notice,  Uncle  Lew,  I  don't  propose  to 
let  Grace  out  of  sight,"  Hillyer  remarked.  "  I 
don't  propose  to  lose  her." 

"  I  only  wish  you  wouldn't  consent  at  all,  papa 
dear,"  Grace  said,  "  for  I  think  it  an  imposition,  a 
perfect  imposition.  I  can't  see  why  I  can't  go 
back  to  Salina  with  papa  and  wait  until — until  the 
time.  There  now,  don't  laugh,  Robert,  or  I'll  go 
anyway,  no  matter  what  papa  says.  If  he  won't 
take  me—  "  and  by  this  time  the  girl  was  at  the 
back  of  her  father's  chair  with  her  arms  about  his 
neck — "  if  he  won't  take  me,  I  can  go  back  to  the 
convent." 

"  And  like  the  ladies  in  the  Middle  Age  ro 
mances  immure  yourself  in  a  cloister  until  a  gallant 
knight  on  a  milk-white  horse  comes  along  to  rescue 
you  !  "  Hillyer  remarked  with  mock  gravity. 

Suffice  it  to  say  that  Dunbar  fell  in  with  the  bet 
ter  plan,  as  Hillyer,  the  chief  conspirator  in  the 
plot,  knew  he  would.  What  Dunbar  would  have 
said,  had  his  tongue  been  as  ready  as  usual,  the 
artist  said  for  him,  namely,  that  it  would  be  foolish 
to  cover  a  contingency  that  must  of  necessity  be  of 


2/o  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

such  brief  duration;  that  Dunbar  had  business 
which  took  him  away  from  Salina  a  large  part  of 
the  time,  and  that  Brooklyn  would  be  as  accessible 
as  Salina  when  he  was  moved  to  parental  com 
munion.  This  argument  had  prevailed  after  Dun- 
bar  and  Hillyer  had  sat  together  alone  and  smoked. 
The  artist  had  taken  his  old  friend  off  to  drive  the 
argument  home.  Dunbar  had  had  a  sudden  inspira 
tion  looking  to  bringing  Grace  to  Salina  and  pro 
viding  an  ante-nuptial  refuge  for  her  and  him  at 
the  Salina  House.  It  was  only  an  inspiration  ;  not 
a  conclusion. 

And  over  their  cigars  Dunbar  had  unfolded  to 
Hillyer  what  he  had  planned  to  do  as  a  finishing 
touch  to  Crazy  Jane's  racing  campaign. 

"  I  haven't  been  stubbin'  round  the  country  for 
nuthin'  this  summer,  my  boy,  not  by  a  long  shot." 

Dunbar  was  holding  in  his  hands  a  little  book 
with  a  red  cover,  the  pages  of  which  were  scrawled 
full  of  awkward  figures. 

"I'm  about  $15,000  ahead  of  the  game  at  this 
minute,"  he  said,  "  and  there's  blood  on  the  face 
of  the  moon.  The  little  mare's  been  humpin'  along 
in  her  own  pe-culiar  way  all  summer,  and  the  coon- 
iest  of  'em  haven't  guessed  her  right  yet.  There's 
only  two  men  on  earth  who  knows  what  she  can  do, 


IN  LOVING  ARMS.  271 

that's  me  and  Jasper  Jackson — he's  the  nigger  who 
drives  her,  and  he's  a  white  black  man.  Trust  him  ? 
You  bet  your  boots  I  do,  I'm  makin'  no  mistakes 
of  that  kind.  Well,  as  I  was  sayin'  when  the  wind 
blew  down  the  barn,  Crazy  Jane  pushed  clean  down 
to  her  limit,  can  clip  it  off  between  wire  and  wire  in 
2:17,  maybe  splittin'  a  second  one  side  or  t'other  of 
this  mark.  We've  never  sent  her  for  all  she's  wuth 
but  twice  this  summer,  and  'twasn't  when  anybody 
was  snoopin'  to  put  a  clock  on  us.  Now,  look-a- 
here,  2:18  1-2  is  there-cord  in  this  race — you  know 
that — and  Gen.  Palmer's  the  horse  that's  done  the 
trick.  My  mare  forced  the  big  geldin'  down  to  that 
figger  at  Hartford  a  month  ago,  and  jogged  in  just 
in  time  to  get  third  money.  We  played  possum 
with  the  geldin'  all  along,  but  wanted  to  see  what 
she  was  made  of  jest  for  greens.  Maybe — but  I 
don't  think  it — Palmer  can  do  a  mite  better,  pre- 
haps — let  me — see — say  2:18,  or  2:17  3-4.  At  Hart 
ford  he  was  the  wust  tuckered  race-horse  I  ever  set 
eyes  on  after  we  laid  into  him.  They  licked  him 
down  the  stretch  till  he  was  as  sore  as  a  felon  on  a 
thumb,  and  lathered  like  a  barber's  brush.  Next 
day  they  didn't  trot  him.  See  what  I'm  drivin' 
at?" 

"  Driving   to   win   something,   I    dare   say,"    re- 


272  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

sponded  Hillyer,  who  was  nevertheless  still  a  candi 
date  for  further  enlightenment. 

"  Now,  my  boy,  I'll  lift  the  lid  and  let  you  see 
what's  in  the  box,"  said  Dunbar,  continuing. 
"  Sam  Baldwin,  who  owns  Palmer,  is  covetin*  some 
of  the  rhino  I've  been  layin'  hands  on,  and  he's  got 
the  notion  in  his  head  I'm  off  a  farm  in  the  neigh 
bourhood  of  Green's  Corners.  He's  been  feelin'  of 
me  for  weeks,  wantin'  to  make  a  race,  and  I  ra-ther 
guess  I'm  his  oyster.  You  see  he  thinks  I  think 
I've  got  a  wonder,  and  as  I  would  be  puttin'  up 
other  f olks's  money,  is  dead  set  on  landin'  me  t'other 
side  of  Jordan.  I've  given  the  boys  a  nice  idee 
I'm  game,  and  if  I  once  got  goin'  would  blow  in 
everythin'  on  the  pantry-shelf — even  the  crown 
jewel?.  And  I  shouldn't  be  sur-prised  if  he'd  taken 
your  Uncle  Lew's  measure.  Now,  my  boy,  I've  jest 
come  over  in  an  emigrant  ship,  and  about  'nough 
of  a  greenhorn  to  make  the  match — that  is,  if  he'll 
make  the  ante  wuth  talkin'  about.  Don't  think 
I'm  walkin'  in  my  sleep,  my  boy,  when  I  whisper 
in  your  ear  that  Crazy  Jane  can  outfoot  Palmer 
for  marbles  or  dollars,  and  that's  a  spec-u-lation  I'm 
goin'  to  chip  in  my  pile  to  close  up.  I've  got 
Baldwin  keyed  up  by  sayin',  so's  he  could  hear  it, 
Crazy  Jane  can  drop  the  distance  flag  on  his 


IN  LOVING  ARMS.  273 

geldin'.  Baldwin's  let  me  win  second  money  four 
or  five  times,  he  thinks,  when  fust  went  to  some  one 
else,  jest  to  whet  my  appe-tite.  And  I'm  gettin' 
kind  o'  hungry,  I  don't  mind  sayin'." 

"  But  suppose  this  horse  Palmer  can  trot  faster 
than  2:17,  then  what?  "  asked  Hillyer. 

"  Then  Baldwin's  the  top  of  the  heap,  my  boy, 
the  top  of  the  heap,  and  the  house  I'm  goin'  to  buy 
my  gal  won't  be  as  good  as  she  ought  to  have." 

"  O,  come  now,  Uncle  Lew,  I  won't  have  that, 
you  know,"  Hillyer  was  in  haste  to  say.  "I'm  go 
ing  to  buy  the  house ;  it  may  be  a  plain  one,  but  I 
intend  to  pay  for  it." 

"  I  can't  stop  you  buyin'  a  house  any  more'n 
you  can  stop  me,  my  boy,  and  let's  say  we'll  keep 
hands  off.  It's  my  money  I'm  goin'  to  let  go  of." 

"  It's  yours,  Uncle  Lew,  if  Baldwin  doesn't  get 
hold  of  it,"  Hillyer  put  in  with  a  laugh  and  a 
chuckle. 

"  He's  welcome  if  he  gets  it,"  Dunbar  said,  "  I 
never  squeal." 

"  You  know  where  you  can  borrow  enough  for 
railroad  fare  home,  Uncle  Lew,  don't  you  ?  Grace 
and  I  won't  see  you  suffer." 

"All  right,  my  covey,  all  right.  But  just  put 
this  in  your  pipe  and  smoke  it :— 


274  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

"  '  Keep  your  money  in  your  pocket, 
When  you  want  it  then  you've  got  it, 
When  a  friend  comes  'round  to  borrer, 
Tell  him  to  call  'round  to-morrer.'  " 

When  Dunbar  and  his  young  friend  returned  to 
the  drawing  room  Crazy  Jane  was  the  first  subject 
of  conversation. 

"  What  a  funny  name  for  a  horse,"  the  younger 
of  the  Hillyer  girls  said. 

"You  ought  to  see  her,"  rejoined  Dunbar. 

And  it  wa3  decided  that  as  the  mare  would  come 
to  Brooklyn  a  fortnight  hence  for  her  last  appear 
ance,  the  opportunity  should  not  be  missed. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

CRAZY  JANE. 

JASPER  JACKSON'S  glossy  skin  of  ebony  shone 
like  a  polished  kettle  as  he  sat,  his  legs  in  a  sort  of 
grotesque  knot,  on  an  upturned  grain  measure  in 
front  of  Crazy  Jane's  stall  at  the  far  end  of  the 
Brooklyn  Fashion  Course.  The  summer  had  taken 
on  a  new  lease  of  life  in  this  first  week  of  Septem 
ber.  It  was  piping  hot.  On  the  singed  plot  of 
greensward  immediately  in  front  of  the  long  row  of 
fancifully  painted  stalls,  each  bearing  a  number  in 
bold  characters  above  its  horizontally  divided  door, 
were  disposed  scores  of  jockeys,  horse-rubbers  and 
stablemen,  some  of  Jasper's  own  complexion,  and 
some  presumably  of  the  white  races,  though  their 
skins  showed  the  ruddy  bronze  of  continual  expos 
ure.  Face  down  on  the  grass,  his  heels  in  air,  lay 
one  of  the  craft  talking  with  Lewis  Dunbar's  driver. 
Others  were  stretched  out  in  the  narrow  shadow  of 
the  sheds  prone  on  their  backs,  and  others  still, 
worked  lazily  at  hanging  harness  or  tilted  sulky. 

Further  along,  where  a  huge  maple   warded  off 


276  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

the  glowing  sun,  boys  and  men  were  leading  at 
halters'  ends  what  were  really  blanketed  horses, 
but  which,  swathed  and  girdled  from  the  tips  of 
their  ears  to  their  cruppers,  looked  like  palentologi- 
cal  specimens  come  to  life  again  after  centuries  of 
burial.  At  a  little  distance  they  appeared  to  have 
coats  of  many  colours — green,  yellow,  red,  blue — 
and  to  be  of  extraordinary  bulk.  Their  envelop 
ment  hung  to  their  hocks  and  encased  their  necks 
and  heads  so  as  to  make  them  look  twice  their  size. 
Eyes  they  seemed  to  have  as  big  and  monster-like 
as  the  fabled  unicorn,  where  the  blankets  were  pro 
vided  with  peepholes  as  round  and  of  the  circum 
ference  of  saucers. 

"  I'm  almost  afraid  of  them,"  Grace  Dunbar  was 
saying  as  she  stood  with  the  man  of  her  choice  in  a 
group  formed,  as  well,  by  Dunbar  and  the  Hillyer 
girls.  Grace  was  looking  for  the  first  time  on  the 
panolpy  of  a  race-track. 

"And  I  know,  Grace,  I'll  have  night-mares  for  a 
month,"  was  what  Anne  Hillyer  had  said.  "  They 
look  like  what  night-mares  must  be.  And  isn't  it 
cruel  to  keep  the  poor  things  tied  up  in  blankets  in 
this  hot  weather?  Why  do  they  do  it,  Mr.  Dun- 
bar?" 

"  A  trick  of  the  trade,  miss,"  Dunbar  made  an- 


CRAZY  JANE.  277 

swer.  "  Racin'  stock's  very  liable  to  take  cold,  and 
then  they  won't  work.  This  is  a  great  day  for 
fast  work.  Keep  'em  trottin'  when  they're 
sweatin'." 

"  Do  you  think  Crazy  Jane — what  a  funny  name 
that  is — will  win  ?  "  inquired  Beatrice. 

"  Money  talks,  miss,"  said  Dunbar,  and  as  the 
inquirer  turned  to  the  artist  as  if  to  seek  an  inter 
pretation  to  this  bit  of  turf  argot,  Robert  whispered 
that  the  owner  of  Crazy  Jane  was  very  sure  she 
would  win,  or  he  wouldn't  have  wagered  so  much 
money  on  the  outcome  of  the  event. 

"Now,  papa,  dear,"  interposed  Grace  at  this 
juncture,  "  we  all  want  to  see  Crazy  Jane." 

Anticipating  this  request,  Dunbar  had  led  his 
friends  to  the  stall  before  which  Jasper  Jackson  was 
keeping  guard. 

"  Sittin'  on  the  bye  all  the  time,"  said  Dunbar  to 
Hillyer  as  they  drew  nigh.  "  He's  true  blue,  that 
boy,  I  can  tell  you." 

What  was  more,  the  faithful  Jackson  was  master 
of  the  situation,  and  to  the  intense  disappointment 
of  everybody,  he  set  his  face  like  a  storm-cloud 
against  disturbing  the  mare  an  hour  before  she  was 
going  to  make  the  trial  of  her  life. 

"  I  don't  just  like  to  do  it,  Mistah  Dunbar,"  was 


278  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

the  way  the  jockey  put  it.  "  She's  been  feelin' 
bang  up  dis  h'yre  mo'nin'  and  I  hates  to  discombo- 
late  her  now.  She  just  went  like  de  ol'  debbil  his- 
sel'  dis  mo'nin'  when  I  gives  her  a  tu'n  of  t'ree 
miles,  to  wake  her  up  so  she'd  see  de  sun  rise  ober 
yender,  and  I'd  ruther  not  fetch  her  out.  She's  so 
ticklish,  misses  " — turning  to  the  ladies — "  I  just 
hates  to.  I  wouldn't  lose  dis  race  for  nuthin',  not 
for  nuthin'." 

"  She  ain't  anything  to  look  at,  but  I  guess  you'd 
better  trot  out,  Jackson  ;  I'll  take  the  chance." 
Dunbar  had  caught  the  sign  of  disappointment  in 
Grace's  eye. 

"  I  ask  you  pleasingly,  Mistah  Dunbar,  not  to 
make  me  do  it,  sah.  Of  cou'se  if  you  seys  so,  yo' 
seys  so,  but  I  don'  contemplate  yo'  know  what  the 
chance  am.  My  money's  up,  Mistah  Dunbar,  and 
I  wants  to  win  'long  with  yo',  sah." 

"  I  say  let  Jackson  have  his  way,  Uncle  Lew," 
put  in  Hillyer.  "  We  shall  be  the  better  pleased 
when  she  comes  out  sniffing  victory  from  afar." 

"That's  it,  sah,"  cried  Jackson,  the  whites  of  his 
eyes  rolling  like  eggs  on  a  platter,  "  that's  it. 
Vict'ry  from  'far.  And  if  she  don'  fool  dem  fellers 
— fool  'em  suah — then  this  here  moke'll  stop  drivin' 
race-horses  and  hire  out's  a  chambermaid  in  a  liv'ry 
stable." 


CRAZY  JANE.  279 

"  The  coloured  troops  fight  nobly,"  Dunbar  said  in 
a  tone  that  betrayed  his  sympathy  with  his  dusky 
henchman. 

And  as  the  ladies  instantly  withdrew  their  per 
suasions  Jackson  was  left  bowing  his  thanks  as  if  he 
had  been  done  the  greatest  of  favours. 

The  friends  had  a  good  half  hour  or  so  to  spare 
before  the  races  were  to  be  called.  As  they  loitered 
along  toward  the  grand-stand  Dunbar  informed 
Hillyer  that  instead  of  the  side  bet  on  the  result  of 
the  race  being  $5,000  each,  the  original  proposition, 
Baldwin  the  night  before  had  proposed  doubling  it, 
and  the  challenge  had  been  accepted.  It  was  ex 
pressly  stipulated  by  Baldwin  that  Crazy  Jane  was 
to  beat  Gen.  Palmer  three  heats  in  five  for  place. 
The  bob-tail  mare  need  not  win  the  race,  if  a  better 
horse  than  either  should  show  up.  It  was  to  be  a 
test  between  the  mare  and  the  gelding. 

"  But  we're  goin'  to  send  her  to  win  the  race," 
Dunbar  remarked,  "  if  it  takes  a  leg,  or  four  of  'em. 
It'll  bring  the  mare  to  her  bottom  notch,  and  then 
maybe  I'll  sell  her,  and  let  some  other  fellow  have 
the  fun.  I  dreamed  last  night  Baldwin  might  want 
her." 

"  One  of  your  wide-awake  dreams,  Uncle  Lew  ?  " 
Hillyer  inquired. 


280  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

"  Well,  I  was  jest  toyin'  with  Morpheus  when  I 
had  it." 

"  And  how  about  the  pools  ?  Will  you  back 
your  horse  in  them  ?"  was  Hillyer's  query. 

"  Till  hell  freezes  over !  It's  a  case  of  root,  hog, 
or  die,  my  boy." 

A  few  minutes  later  the  artist  and  his  three  com 
panions  were  taking  their  places  in  the  procession 
of  spectators  which  had  now  begun  to  surge  through 
the  main  entrance  to  the  grand-stand.  It  was  not 
expected  that  Dunbar  would  remain  with  them,  and 
he  therefore  was  not  obliged  to  offer  any  excuse  for 
absenting  himself,  although  Grace  urged  her  father 
to  take  any  opportunity  which  offered  to  find  them 
in  their  places  that  they  might  have  the  latest  news 
of  Crazy  Jane's  condition. 

"Yes,"  put  in  Hillyer,  "I  may  want  to  buy  a 
pool  or  two,  and  wouldn't  like  to  get  things  wrong." 

Somewhere  from  the  mysterious  depths  of  the 
thronged  structure  in  front  of  them  came  a  strident 
voice  speaking  in  the  jargon  of  the  pool  box  : 

"  Gen.  Palmer  sells  for  seventy-five,  what  am  I 
offered  for  second  choice?  Yes,  sir,  this  is  the 
2:18  class.  Fifty  I'm  offered,  fifty,  fifty,  sixty  you 
say,  and  it's  worth  it.  All  done.  Sold  for  sixty. 
P.  G.  takes  Crazy  Jane." 


CRAZY  JANE.  281 

And  so  on.  Hillyer  pricked  up  his  ears,  and 
drawing  Dunbar  off  an  arm's  length,  slipped  a  pack 
age  of  bills  into  his  hands,  and  said  under  his 
breath: 

"  On  Crazy  Jane  at  any  odds." 

In  an  instant  Dunbar  was  lost  in  the  crowd. 
Beatrice  Hillyer  was  looking  around  for  him  in 
vain. 

"  O,  I  did  want  to  say  to  Mr.  Dunbar  the  last 
thing,  I  hoped  his  horse  would  win." 

"  So  did  I,"  added  Anne,  "  didn't  you,  dear  ?  " 

Grace,  to  whom  this  question  was  addressed, 
simply  said : 

"  She  will.  My  father  said  so."  It  came  as 
positively  as  a  judicial  decree. 

"  I  wish  I  had  your  confidence,  and  I'd  win  a 
million  to-day,"  Hillyer  rejoined.  "  If  Uncle  Lew 
was  to  do  the  trotting  I'd  back  him  for  all  there  is 
in  the  bank,  but  horses  are  horses." 

By  this  time  the  party  were  ascending  the  stairs 
to  the  grand-stand,  and  from  under  their  feet  the 
echoes  of  the  pool-sellers'  cries  were  ringing.  It  was 
a  jumble  of  sounds,  in  a  score  of  vocal  keys,  not 
always  intelligible,  but  combining,  in  such  words  or 
phrases  as  were  audible,  the  names  of  horses  and 
stated  wagers.  It  was  the  more  like  Bedlam  let 


282  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

loose  because  it  seemed  to  come  from  the  bowels 
of  the  earth. 

"  There,"  said  Hillyer,  "  Crazy  Jane's  the  favour 
ite.  Listen  !  " 

But  as  the  artist  and  the  others  under  his  escort 
were  pushed  rudely  along  up  the  steps,  the  riot  of 
noises  was  more  incomprehensible  and  listening  was 
a  futile  effort.  Into  their  ears  was  being  bellowed 
the  fact  that  programmes  of  the  day's  races,  giving 
descriptions  of  the  horses,  their  official  numbers 
and  their  records  on  the  track,  were  for  sale ; 
ushers  were  shouting  the  directions  to  seats,  ven 
dors  were  selling  lemonade,  and  separated  specta 
tors  were  trying  vainly  to  resist  the  impact  of  the 
multitude  by  sheer  force  of  lung  power.  In  this 
hurry  and  flurry  the  four  friends  found  their  places 
in  an  eligible  location  among  thousands  of  others, 
sweltering  like  themselves  under  the  scorching  heat 
of  the  afternoon.  It  was  the  everyday  spectacle  of 
an  American  race-track. 

A  band  stationed  in  a  pagoda  at  the  opposite 
side  of  the  track  had  come  to  the  end  of  a  Strauss 
waltz.  Again  the  lingo  of  the  gamesters  down  be 
low  lifted  itself  above  the  counter  tumult.  Dozens 
of  other  names  than  Crazy  Jane's  and  Gen.  Palmer's 
were  dimly  heard. 


CRAZY  JANE.  283 

"  Now  listen,"  Hillyer  almost  shouted.  ''  They're 
selling  the  2:18  race.  ' 

The  betting  was  in  favour  of  the  bob-tail  mare. 

"  Her  owner  is  buying  Crazy  Jane,  and  he  ought 
to  know,"  the  pool  seller  was  saying.  "  A  hundred 
dollars  in  the  pool,  and  how  much  for  second  choice  ? 
Seventy-five,  seventy-five,  seventy-five,  and  sold 
to—" 

A  burst  of  applause  had  gone  up  from  the  grand 
stand  at  sight  of  a  famous  trotter  which  had  come  at 
a  jog  into  view.  Another  and  another  and  another 
joined  the  first  at  the  judges'  stand.  The  drivers 
were  dismounting  from  between  the  spider-webbed 
wheels  of  their  sulkies,  and  with  the  cushions  from 
their  seats,  were  weighing  in.  Hillyer  had  been  to 
the  races  before,  and  he  explained  this  .part  of  the 
picture.  Coming  from  invisible  openings  the  space 
in  front  of  the  judges'  stand  was  quickly  peopled 
by  slouching  fellows  carrying  buckets  and  sponges, 
and  bearing  over  their  shoulders  or  on  their  arms 
soft  blankets,  which  they  made  haste  to  throw  over 
the  horses'  backs  while  the  weighing  proceeded. 
Most  of  them  sopped  dripping  sponges  in  the 
horses'  mouths,  and  rinsed  out  their  distended 
nostrils. 

The  great  ellipse    of   whitened   sand  which   lay 


284  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

stretched  out  under  the  eye  was  now  resounding  to 
the  patter  of  quick-flying  feet.  The  entries  for  the 
first  event  of  the  day  were  scoring  for  the  start. 
From  beneath  the  canopy  of  the  grand-stand  the 
arena  looked  as  splendid  as  a  masterpiece  in  oil. 
At  first  it  was  a  panorama,  all  motion  and  life  in 
every  element  save  the  landscape  ;  then  as  if  by 
magic  the  clang  of  a  bell  set  nearly  every  human 
figure  in  it  as  rigid  as  if  it  had  undergone  a  galvanic 
shock.  Craning  necks  in  the  grand-stand,  tiptoeing 
fringes  of  men  at  the  fences,  attent  beings  every 
where  !  Only  the  fidgetty  horses  and  an  occasional 
laggard  spectator  seemed  to  escape  the  mighty  force 
which  transformed  life  into  a  quietude  like  death. 
The  races  had  begun. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  RACE. 

IT  was  a  rare  day's  sport  the  horsemen  were  hav 
ing,  even  though  the  cracks  of  the  turf  marshalled 
for  contest  in  the  2:i8  class  were  still  in  the  stables. 
The  heats  in  the  three  races  on  the  card  were  being 
trotted  alternately,  bringing  Crazy  Jane  and  Gen. 
Palmer  to  the  score  last  of  all. 

"  It's  over  so  soon,"  Grace  complained  after  both 
heats  preceding.  She  was  beginning  to  understand 
why  men  took  headlong  leaps  to  ruin  on  the  race 
track.  Yet  she  winced  a  little  to  see  women  about 
her  making  wagers  with  no  regard  for  the  publicity 
of  their  surroundings. 

Not  until  the  call  had  come  from  the  judges'  bell 
for  the  event  of  the  day  did  the  artist  or  his  com 
panions,  though  they  scanned  the  quarter-stretch 
like  sharp-shooters,  catch  sight  of  the  owner  of  Crazy 
Jane. 

"  Perhaps  he's  lost  the  crown  jewels,  lady-love," 
whispered  Hillyer  to  Grace,  "  so  keep  your  eye  out 
for  the  beaver  hat." 


286  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

Anon  it  was  spied.  The  uncommon  man  who 
wore  it  was  coming  from  the  direction  of  the  stables, 
and  though  stopped  a  score  of  times  after  he  was  in 
front  of  the  grand-stand,  was  showing  as  much 
expedition  as  possible  in  finding  a  place  to  stand  at 
the  fence.  It  was  observed  that  there  was  a  disposi 
tion  to  give  him  room,  and  the  open  sesame  was  his 
announcement  that  he  owned  one  of  the  entries. 

Five  of  the  original  six  entries  for  the  2:18 
class  responded  to  the  summons — Crazy  Jane,  Gen. 
Palmer,  Hortense,  Walkill  Belle  and  Swiftwing. 
The  four  first  named  had  been  through  the  circuit 
in  this  class,  and  Swiftwing,  the  newcomer,  was  a 
Hambletonian-bred  mare,  with  a  reputed  gait  of  a 
shade  better  than  2:22  in  private.  The  best  she 
had  done  in  public  was  to  get  a  mark  of  2:24  a  week 
before.  An  equine  quidnunc  on  the  grand-stand, 
who  gave  this  information,  remarked  that  Swiftwing 
was  little  better  than  a  colt  and  was  in  this  race  only 
for  experience. 

Jasper  Jackson  was  the  only  negro  up  behind  a 
horse  in  this  race,  so  that  identification  of  the  bob 
tail  propounded  no  problem  to  the  little  party  in  the 
grand-stand.  Crazy  Jane  came  on  the  track  with  the 
rest  of  the  entries  in  her  class.  There  was  a  cheer 
for  the  cracks  as  they  jogged  to  and  fro  while  the 


THE  RACE.  287 

drivers  were  taking  turns  on  the  scales,  but  on 
the  part  of  Hillyer  and  the  girls  it  was  a  per 
functory  demonstration,  half-hearted,  short-lived. 
Crazy  Jane  too  closely  resembled  a  cotton-tailed 
rabbit  between  thills  to  excite  a  high  degree  of  en 
thusiasm.  By  comparison  the  other  horses  in  the 
race  looked  like  steeds  from  a  royal  equerry. 

The  horses  were  now  in  motion,  scoring  for  the 
word,  in  these  positions  :  Walkill  Belle  at  the  pole, 
Gen.  Palmer  second,  Crazy  Jane  third,  Hortense 
fourth  and  Swiftwing  fifth.  No  one  who  knew  a 
surcingle  from  a  soup  ladle  needed  to  be  told  the 
race  was  the  bob-tail  against  the  field.  There  was 
not  a  driver  in  sight  who  was  not  bent  on  badgering 
the  little  mare.  Jackson  had  wheeled  in  to  the 
fence  the  first  time  he  went  back  for  a  start,  and  it 
could  be  seen  with  half  an  eye,  the  mare  had  rec 
ognised  her  owner.  With  her  head  perked  to  one 
side,  to  keep  her  good  eye  straight  before  her,  the 
recognition  was  as  marked  as  if  she  had  winked  at 
Dunbar.  But  it  seemed  undeniably  comic  to  count 
on  this  horse  beating  the  kings  and  queens  of  the  turf. 

Hillyer  almost  wished  he  had  his  money  back. 
But  he  took  heart  later  on,  when  in  the  first  heat 
Crazy  Jane  finished  second  ahead  of  Gen.  Palmer, 
the  winner  of  the  heat  being  Walkill  Belle,  who 


288  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

was  on  hand  with  the  superb  stride  of  her  noble  an 
cestor.  The  heat  had  been  utterly  barren  of  fea 
tures.  Even  the  pace  was  slow.  Disappointment 
would  have  reigned  had  not  the  people  had  some 
thing  to  laugh  at.  Crazy  Jane  was  the  butt  of 
popular  ridicule. 

"  See  her  paw  ! "  was  an  outcry  that  described  her 
hippity-hop  of  a  gait. 

Scores  of  scoffing  voices  took  up  the  cry: 

"  See  her  paw  !  " 

Grace  felt  hurt,  and  was  expressing  herself  in 
peppery  fashion  when  her  attention  and  that  of  her 
companions  was  caught  by  her  father,  who  was 
standing  in  a  temporarily  open  space  holding  up 
one  finger  of  his  right  hand  as  if  signalling  with  a 
semaphore. 

"  He  means  he's  beaten  Gen.  Palmer  the  first  trick 
— or  heat,"  Hillyer  said,  interpreting  the  sign. 
Then  Dunbar  was  beckoned  to  come  up,  and  he  was 
soon  elbowing  his  way  to  where  they  sat. 

"  So  far  so  good,"  he  said  in  reply  to  the  artist's 
question  as  to  how  things  were  going  "  Jest  sparrin' 
for  wind,  you  see  ;  jest  feelin*  our  way.  I  ra-ther 
guess  Baldwin  thinks  he  gave  me  that  heat.  Wants 
to  string  the  old  man.  Walkill  won,  take  notice,  in 
2:20^.  Any  of  us  can  beat  that,  even  that  young- 


THE  RACE.  289 

ster  Swiftwing,  I  reckon.  Baldwin'd  like  to  coax 
me  up  to  the  edge  of  the  pre-cipice  and  then  tip  me 
over  into  the  pool  box.  You  ought  to  see  his 
stool-pigeons  buzzin'  'round  the  money  coffers  while 
he's  doing  the  Sunday  school  act  over  in  the  green 
lots." 

All  of  which  was  Chaldean  to  his  friends.  Even 
Hillyer  shook  his  head  demurely  when,  after  Dun- 
bar's  departure,  his  younger  sister  asked,  sotto  voce, 
what  was  that  Mr.  Dunbar  had  said. 

Then  the  gentleman  who  was  so  familiar  with 
Swiftwing's  pedigree  returned  to  his  seat  from  a  trip 
to  the  betting  ring,  and  in  the  hearing  of  every  one 
within  thrice  the  length  of  his  arm  proclaimed  that 
Crazy  Jane  and  Gen.  Palmer  were  racing  for  a  side 
bet  of  $10,000!  The  news  spread  over  the  grand 
stand  in  a  twinkling,  with  the  result  that  from  that 
moment  the  other  contests  took  minor  place.  As 
Grace  did  not  know  what  a  side  bet  was,  nor  that 
her  father  had  made  one,  she  thought  no  more  of 
the  announcement  than  if  she  had  heard  Crazy 
Jane  was  going  to  have  an  extra  peck  of  oats  for 
winning. 

But  she  felt  that  new  interest  had  been  aroused 
in  the  bob-tail  mare,  and  that  a  lot  of  people  must 
be  very  sorry  they  laughed  at  the  horse  earlier  in 


290  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

the  day.  Plaudits  were  about  equally  divided 
between  the  mare  and  the  gelding  when  they  came 
out  for  the  second  heat.  Dunbar  was  at  his  station 
next  the  fence,  and  as  the  five  horses  tried  over 
and  over  again  for  a  start,  he  was  observed  several 
times  coaching  his  driver.  It  was  a  dreary  process, 
this  scoring  down,  and  as  unpractised  as  his  eye 
was  in  such  matters  Hillyer  could  see  the  bob-tail 
was  getting  a  bit  restless.  Here  and  there  on  the 
grand-stand,  and  on  the  quarter-stretch  as  well,  there 
were  cries  of  "  Fine  him  !  Fine  him  !  "  Horsemen 
could  see  the  false  starts  were  being  needlessly  pro 
longed,  and  the  gentleman  who  knew  all  about 
Swiftwing  laid  the  blame  on  Gen.  Palmer's  driver. 

"  Palmer  won't  let  Crazy  Jane  into  second  place 
where  she  belongs,"  he  shouted.  "  See  him  get 
ahead  of  her  to  crowd  her  over  !  There  !  Darned 
if  all  of  'em  aren't  in  it.  Here  they  come  '  It's  a 
go !  O,  but  Crazy  Jane  gets  the  worst  of  that 
send-off." 

The  bell  which  had  been  ringing  to  turn  the 
bunch  back  was  at  last  silent.  The  horses  were 
away  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  Walkill's  scion  was  lead 
ing,  followed  at  close  quarters  by  Gen.  Palmer  and 
Crazy  Jane,  the  others  trailing  at  the  rear.  Almost 
without  variation  this  order  of  progress  was  main- 


THE  RACE.  291 

tained  to  the  pole  marking  three-quarters  of  a  mile, 
when  Walkill  Belle  and  Gen.  Palmer  changed  places, 
a  manoeuvre  which  seemed  literally  to  thrust  the  bob 
tail  forward,  for  in  a  period  no  longer  than  a  look  she 
was  swaying  around  the  turn  to  the  stretch  with  her 
good  eye  almost  glued  to  the  back  of  the  gelding's 
driver.  If  they  had  been  tied  together  they  could 
not  have  travelled  at  a  pace  more  even.  Gen. 
Palmer  was  moving  like  a  machine,  every  foot  fall  as 
measured  as  the  strokes  of  a  piston  rod,  while 
plunging  forward  came  Crazy  Jane,  the  thunder  of 
her  hoofs  loud  enough  to  be  heard  above  the  now 
excited  yells  and  cheers  of  the  crowd.  The  geld 
ing  had  claimed  the  lead,  but  had  not  been  able  to 
swing  into  the  pole,  so  that  as  soon  as  the  bob-tail 
began  to  inch  to  the  fore,  as  she  did  on  the  straight 
away,  there  was  a  berth  for  her  inside.  She  had 
taken  it,  almost  lunging  forward  as  Jackson  brought 
his  hands  down  on  her  haunches,  still  holding  the 
reins  taut,  and  apparently  pushing  his  horse  as  he 
scrouched  in  his  seat  and  laid  his  cheek  flat  on  her 
back.  That  instant  Gen.  Palmer's  driver,  beating 
about  him  with  his  whip,  caught  the  bob-tail  in  the 
face  with  a  vicious  fillip  and  up  she  went  off  her 
feet. 

"  It  looked   to   be   all  day  with  her  then,"  said 


292  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

Dunbar  after  the  struggle,  "  but  when  I  hollered  in 
her  ear  as  she  went  by,  you  saw  what  she  did.  You 
saw  it,  didn't  you  ?  " 

What  she  did,  it  is  to  be  recorded,  was  to  head 
Gen.  Palmer  a  winner  to  the  wire  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life.  And  she  did  it  in  2:18.  What  Dunbar 
shouted  was  not  cabalistic,  after  all,  but  it  levelled 
the  rearing  horse,  as  it  had  done  time  and  time 
again. 

"  Jig  along,  Jane,"  were  the  simple  words,  but 
they  were  potent,  and  with  them  ten  thousand 
throats,  in  a  wild  roar,  greeted  the  winner  of  the 
most  sensational  of  races  before  the  day  was  done. 

After  this  heat,  had  Dunbar  been  guided  by  aught 
else  but  his  own  judgment,  he  would  have  protested 
the  effort  of  Gen.  Palmer's  driver  to  defeat  Crazy 
Jane  by  foul  means,  and  a  score  of  witnesses  of  the 
trick  came  forward  to  say  they  would  support  the 
protest. 

"  I'm  all  hunki-dori,"  was  Dunbar's  reply  as  he 
mopped  his  forehead  with  a  red  bandana,  "  I'm  all 
hunki-dori,  and  as  for  the  mare,  she'll  do  her  own 
protestin'.  She's  shied  her  castor  in  the  ring  and'll 
fight." 

As  he  looked  up  into  the  grand-stand,  he  saw 
Hillyer  and  all  three  girls  on  their  feet,  waving  their 


THE  RACE.  293 

hands  in  an  apparent  frenzy  of  delight.  This  time, 
with  a  grim  smile  on  his  lips,  he  held  up  two  fingers 
of  his  right  hand,  and  turning  walked  with  Jackson 
up  the  track  behind  his  blanketed  trotter. 

To  owner  and  jockey  the  interim  was  all  too 
short,  but  to  the  expectant  throngs  it  seemed  ages 
before  the  third  heat  was  called.  A  hoarse  din  of 
voices  was  now  proceeding  from  the  region  of  the 
pool-sellers'  stands.  People  on  the  lower  tiers  of 
seats  on  the  grand-stand  leaned  far  out  to  see 
what  they  could  see.  It  was  a  mass  of  excited  men, 
from  whose  faces  the  perspiration  streamed,  and  out 
of  whose  mouths  there  poured  frantic  demands  for 
the  record  of  their  bets.  There  was  no  choice  of 
favourite,  Crazy  Jane  and  Gen.  Palmer  being  named 
at  even  figures,  in  pools  which  piled  up  to  vast 
totals  in  deposits  of  from  one  to  five  hundred  dollars 
every  minute  or  two.  There  were  no  pools  on  the 
other  events.  They  had  been  forgotten. 

By  virtue  of  her  victory  Crazy  Jane  was  the  pole 
horse  in  this  heat,  but  her  honest  title  was  disputed 
by  every  device  of  jockeyism,  as  time  and  time 
again  the  five  contestants  scored  for  the  start.  De 
fiance  of  the  law  of  the  turf  became  so  flagrant  that 
a  warning  was  issued  by  the  judges  that  no  horse 
was  to  head  Crazy  Jane  to  the  starting  point. 


294  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

Walkill  Belle  was  guilty  of  that  offense  the  next 
time  down,  and  her  driver  was  unseated  in  favour 
of  the  judges'  choice.  Down  they  came  again 
strung  out  like  a  funeral.  No  go.  Next  time  there 
was  a  huddle  of  horses  and  sulkies,  and  as  they  flew 
down  with  Gen.  Palmer  a  half  length  in  front  of 
Crazy  Jane,  fifty  voices  almost  in  unison  raised  the 
cry  that  the  bob-tail  was  in  a  pocket.  The  bell  sent 
them  back,  as  Walkill  Belle's  new  driver  was  lagging 
too  far  behind.  As  he  passed  Dunbar  going  up  he 
almost  halted  at  the  fence  to  say : 

"  Old  man,  they're  bound  to  beat  you,  and  they'll 
kill  that  nigger  of  your'n  if  they  have  to." 

Dunbar  had  not  mistaken  the  villanous  purpose 
of  his  opponents,  and  fearful  that  the  waiting  game 
was  dangerous,  he  elbowed  his  way  out  of  his 
place,  and  running  up  the  stretch  ordered  Jackson 
to  nod  for  the  word  the  next  time.  As  all  the 
drivers  heard  the  instructions,  they  struggled  for 
the  advantage  of  a  lead,  and  rushed  their  horses 
down  abreast,  so  manoeuvring  when  they  wheeled  to 
score  that  Crazy  Jane  was  blocked  for  a  second 
or  two.  The  consequence  was  that  Jackson, 
yielding  the  right  of  the  pole  horse  to  fix  the  pace 
at  the  start,  looked  up  at  the  judges  and  took  the 
word  "  Go  "  in  the  dust  of  all  the  rest. 


THE  RACE.  295 

"  She's  got  the  right  of  way,"  Dunbar  half  mur 
mured  to  himself  as  he  took  off  his  coat  and  hung 
it  over  a  picket,  "  and  they'll  have  to  trot  all-fired 
fast  to  get  home  fust." 

They  were  trotting  all-fired  fast ;  Gen.  Palmer  as 
fast  as  the  best,  but  not  fast  enough  to  take  the 
pole  from  the  bob-tail.  The  gelding  had  still  a 
shade  the  best  of  it  as  the  pack  came  broadside  to 
on  the  back-stretch,  where  the  least  variation  in 
position  was  discernible.  In  a  bunch  close  to  the 
leaders  the  other  three  horses  were  spinning  along 
as  if  in  leading  strings.  Crazy  Jane  was  going  no 
faster  than  was  necessary  to  hold  the  inside,  a  fact 
that  stuck  out  when  Gen.  Palmer  on  the  further  turn 
checked  his  gait  perceptibly  as  if  to  allow  Swift- 
wing,  the  next  in  order,  to  draw  up,  bringing  her  on 
even  terms  with  Crazy  Jane. 

"  Palmer's  busted  !  "  yelled  somebody. 

"  Is  he  ? "  came  a  responsive  exclamation. 
"  You'll  see  if  he  is." 

Other  comments  by  the  hundred  rent  the  air, 
which  was  quivering  with  the  suppressed  excite 
ment  of  those  who  could  not  speak. 

Up  near  the  distance  flag  where  Dunbar  stood  in 
his  coat-sleeves  was  a  group  of  stable  attendants, 
who  were  vociferously  predicting  the  triumph  of 
the  gelding. 


296  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

"  She'll  cut  loose  by  and  by,"  the  owner  of  Crazy 
Jane  said.     "  By  and  by,  by  and  by,  by  and  by." 

It  was  as  if  by  some  occult  power  these  words 
drew  the  mare  on,  for  that  terrific  sprawl  of  hers 
lengthened  by  degrees,  and  she  was  literally  tearing 
her  way  to  the  opening  of  the  stretch  like  a  de 
moniac  thing.  At  the  last  turn  of  the  track  a  cur 
tain  of  dust  rose  through  which  it  looked  as  if  a 
great  ball  was  bounding  propelled  by  a  mighty 
bowler.  All  five  of  the  straining  beasts  wrere  seem 
ingly  rolled  into  one,  they  came  on  in  such  close 
formation.  A  shudder  went  through  the  whole  con 
course  of  onlookers  lest  a  single  misstep,  a  swerve 
to  the  right  or  left,  should  throw  the  compact  mass 
of  horses,  men  and  sulkies  into  a  carnival  of  death. 
In  an  oppressive  hush,  an  instant  later,  could  be 
heard  the  ominous  sound  of  splintered  wood,  of 
grating  iron,  and  what  could  be  made  out  in  the 
crush  were  three  or  four  teetering  sulkies  in  which 
drivers  were  trying  to  keep  their  seats. 

"  Great    God ! "  a   man   cried    in    ringing   tones, 
"  they'll  all  be  killed  !  " 

It  looked  as  if  this  was  prophecy. 

"  The  bob-tail's  upset,"  shouted   another   voice. 
"  She's  got  no  driver  !  " 

"  Where's  the  nigger  ?     Poor  devil,  he'll  be  ground 


THE  RACE.  297 

to  powder."  This  from  another  possessor  of  quick 
eyes,  and  a  volley  of  exclamations  like  it,  told  the 
tale.  Women  held  their  hands  before  their  faces 
as  if  they  expected  to  be  spattered  with  Jackson's 
blood. 

Look  !  Ripping  her  pathway  through  the  battle- 
line  Crazy  Jane  was  at  the  fore.  Her  sulky  was 
riding  on  one  wheel  as  she  came  driverless  on.  It 
was  an  uncanny  sight,  for  every  bad  point  in  the 
mare  seemed  to  have  been  exaggerated  a  thousand 
fold.  The  infernal  regions  might  have  claimed  her 
in  this  mad  plunge  toward  the  goal.  She  was  run 
ning  like  a  Kentucky  thoroughbred. 

A  great  shout  like  a  salvo  of  artillery  went  up. 

Every  eye  strained  to  see  what  was  happening. 
Vision  failed.  All  anybody  saw  was  a  coatless  man 
vaulting  from  behind  into  the  sulky  seat,  and  with 
his  hands  gripping  the  breeching  straps,  resting  half 
the  weight  of  his  body  on  the  mare's  back,  as  she 
quickly  recovered  her  gait  and  finished  the  heat  in 
prescribed  form  to  a  yell  repeated  at  every  stride : 
"  Jig  along,  Jane  !  Jig  along,  Jane  !  " 

Crazy  Jane  was  the  winner  of  the  heat  by  a  good 
two  lengths  ahead  of  everybody  save  Walkill  Belle, 
who,  far  out  at  one  side,  was  a  close  second.  Rush 
ing  in  behind  were  the  vicious  crew,  the  enormity 


298  .YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

of  whose  crime  in  seeking  to  eke  out  speed  with 
reckless  jockeyism  dawned  on  the  people  soon 
enough  to  create  a  stemless  tide  of  protest.  Dis 
approval  of  resort  to  fraud  was  screamed  and  yelled, 
and  as  the  foaming  winner  was  led  back  to  the 
judges'  stand,  her  reins  still  dragging,  a  storm  of 
applause  broke  over  the  scene  that  split  the  dome 
of  heaven. 

Dunbar,  it  was,  who  sat  in  Jackson's  place,  and 
obedient  to  the  judges'  nod  he  dismounted  from  his 
sulky  with  a  cigar  wedged  fast  in  the  corner  of 
his  mouth.  For  him,  too,  there  was  another,  and 
still  another  outburst.  His  rivals  were  now  on 
their  feet  in  front  of  the  judges,  and  clamouring  for 
their  rights. 

"Jig  along,  Jane!"  cried  a  stentorian  voice  on 
the  grand-stand,  and  at  the  word,  a  chorus  of  ten 
thousand  took  up  the  phrase  in  sing-song  and 
drowned  out  every  sound  hostile  to  it.  Excited 
men  were  shouting  "  No  heat !  "  and  the  names  of 
the  various  horses,  but  no  one  heard  them.  The 
judges  were  standing  at  their  posts  with  their  heads 
together  as  if  in  council.  Owners  were  wildly  ges 
ticulating  with  their  drivers.  The  chorus  was  still 
"  Jig  along,  Jane !  "  It  broke  for  a  moment,  but  not 
much  longer,  when  a  grime-covered  negro  hobbled 


THE  RACE.  299 

down  the  track  with  a  gash  in  his  cheek  that  stained 
his  jacket  red,  Dunbar  said  not  a  word  except  to 
his  driver,  whom  he  took  about  the  waist  and 
helped  to  a  resting  place  under  the  grand-stand. 

"Jig  along,  Jane!"  was  still  the  cry  when  the 
judges'  stand  hung  out  a  card  awarding  the  heat  to 
Crazy  Jane  in  2:17  1-2,  and  second  place  to  Walkill 
Belle.  It  became  known  presently  that  Gen.  Palmer, 
Hortense  and  Swiftwing  had  been  ruled  off  for 
attempting  to  defeat  the  bob-tail  mare  by  locking 
her  sulky  wheels. 

The  race  was  over,  for  the  fourth  and  deciding 
heat  was  trotted  alone  by  Crazy  Jane  and  Walkill 
Belle,  the  bob-tail  winning  after  a  spirited  dash 
with  Dunbar  himself  in  the  sulky.  As  he  jogged 
toward  the  sheds,  to  the  chorus  renewed  of  "Jig 
along,  Jane  !  "  he  turned  around  in  his  seat  and 
waved  his  hand. 

Only  four  people  saw  that  he  was  holding  four 
fingers  out  straight. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

IN   AFTER   YEARS. 

THE  flight  of  time  has  rushed  the  world  onward 
many  years,  to  a  day  in  early  summer.  The  years 
intervening  have  not  passed  without  leaving  their 
marks  on  history's  pages  ;  wars  have  stained  them 
with  blood  ;  progress  has  set  dow.n  a  new  decalogue 
of  political  and  commercial  life ;  invention  has 
swept  off  the  record  the  best  which  had  gone  before  ; 
nations  and  men  acknowledge  new  allegiances ; 
ceaseless,  tireless,  relentless  change  has  been  the 
order  of  the  age.  Yet  there  are  people  foolish 
enough  to  imagine  the  sun  stands  still  for  a  little 
time  on  this  day  in  early  summer  that  the  glory  of 
its  meridian  may  longer  rest  on  a  piece  of  rolling 
meadowland  on  Staten  Island  where  a  grave  has 
been  dug  for  nothing  better  than  the  carcass  of  a 
horse.  To  be  sure,  this  animal  was  of  no  common 
clay.  If  there  is  a  newspaper  in  the  country  which 
has  not  chronicled  the  horse's  death,  and  in  proper 
terms  saluted  its  memory,  that  newspaper  is  out  of 
fashion,  sadly,  perversely,  culpably  out  of  fashion. 


IN  AFTER  YEARS.  301 

Crazy  Jane  is  no  more,  and  Staten  Island  is  pay 
ing  her  homage.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robert  Hillyer 
said  afterward  they  never  comprehended  what 
loyalty  in  a  neighbourhood  really  was  until  then. 
Everybody  knew  the  bob-tail  it  is  true — her  history 
had  followed  her  from  the  race-track — but  the  old 
hobbledehoy  of  a  beast  had  been  drawing  the  family 
phaeton  so  long,  and  at  such  a  respectable  pace, 
that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robert  Hillyer  would  be  the  last 
people  in  the  world  to  think  of  anybody  remember 
ing  that  Crazy  Jane  ever  went  a  mile  in  2:17  1-2 
and  had  beaten  the  world's  record.  It  was,  in  fact, 
for  what  she  was  yesterday,  not  for  what  she  had 
been  in  years  gone  by,  that  they  grieved  to  have 
her  die,  even  though  her  dying  had  been  a  merciful 
ending  of  a  life  it  had  been  their  serious  aim  to  pro 
long.  A  mile  in  2:17  1-2  had  been  totally  eclipsed 
in  these  after-years.  The  world  has  been  rushing 
onward,  onward,  onward  into  the  electric  age,  in 
which  pulses  and  footfalls,  as  well  as  driving  wheels, 
move  in  response  to  a  new  and  inexplicable  energy. 

"  She  always  could  jig  along  some,"  was  what 
Lewis  Dunbar  said  the  night  before,  and  "  She  al 
ways  could  jig  along  some  "  is  the  epitaph  to  be 
found  above  her  grave  to  this  day. 

It  is  the  death  of  Crazy  Jane  which  has  brought 


302  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

Dunbar  to  Staten    Island   this   early  summer  day 

weeks   in    advance  of   his  customary  arrival    from 

Salina  for  a  fortnight's  stay  with  Robert  and  Grace. 

The  youngsters   who    call   him    grandfather    have 

prattled  the  fiction  about  trading  for  a  cutter  and 

getting  a  race-horse   to    every  willing    ear   on  the 

island,  a  romance  that   usually  turns  the   edge  of 

juvenile  ridicule,  for  it  may  be  said  that  Crazy  Jane 

did  not  grow  more  lovely  to  look  upon  as  she  aged. 

With  common  accord  the   children  of  the  Hillyer 

household  had  grown  to   love  the  bob-tail  better 

than  the  choice  of  the  stable.     More  than  once  they 

had    come   running   to    their   mother,    their    eyes 

streaming  with  tears,   to  recount  how  a  heartless 

playmate  had  said  an  unkind  thing  of  the  old  horse. 

Their  eyes  again   tell  their  tale  of  woe  as  Crazy 

Jane  goes  under  the  sod  on  this  early  summer  day. 

Nor  can  their  elders  keep  back  the  tears.     They  are 

not  ashamed,  either,  to  have  their  neighbours  who 

bare  their  heads  beside  them  in  the  meadow  see 

them  in  their  grief.     It  is  just  a  little  assemblage 

of  friends  standing  beside  a  grave.     Because  it  is  a 

horse's  grave  nothing  is  said  to  give  the  occasion 

solemnity,  but  if  it  is  in  the  heart  of  more  than  one 

there  present,  to  speak,  the  impulse  dies  out  in  the 

glistening  eyes  when  a  white-haired  man  leads  a 


IN  AFTER  YEARS.  303 

curly-headed  boy  to  the  edge  of  the  grave  that  he 
may  drop  a  June  rose  upon  the  lifeless  form  of 
Crazy  Jane.  Against  the  fence,  next  the  shell  road, 
lean  a  half  dozen  men  in  working  clothes,  rough 
fellows  as  men  go,  who  spare  a  part  of  their  noon 
day  respite  reverently  to  watch  a  burial  so  strange. 
A  grocer's  boy — the  noisiest,  the  loudest-mouthed, 
the  most  unruly,  that  ever  cracked  a  whip — comes 
down  the  road,  his  horse  on  the  run,  hurrying  home 
to  his  dinner.  At  a  sign  from  the  men  at  the  fence, 
and  a  word  of  what  is  doing  over  in  the  meadow, 
this  flagrant  disturber  of  the  public  peace  draws 
rein,  and  like  the  rest,  stands  still,  his  red  hair  blaz 
ing  in  the  sun,  while  Crazy  Jane  is  buried.  The 
grocer's  boy  knows  the  bob-tail  mare  had  earned 
a  decent  funeral. 

After  it  is  over,  when  the  family  are  alone,  the 
curly-headed  boy  who  is  at  the  knee  of  the  white- 
haired  man  lisps  this  startling  question  : 

"  Grandpa,  do  horses  go  to  heaven  when  they 
die?  Brother  Lewis  told  me  to  ask  you." 

Whereat  a  bigger  boy,  pretending  with  all  his 
might  to  be  a  man,  as  he  stretches  his  legs  apart 
and  sticks  his  hands  deep  in  his  pockets  in  the  con 
scious  importance  of  nine  years  of  worldly  experi 
ence,  bubbles  over  with  glee  at  the  other  end  of  the 


304  YOUR  UNCLE  LEW. 

piazza..  It  is  the  familiar  spectacle  of  wisdom — self- 
assertive,  confident  wisdom  in  its  teens — seeking-  for 

O 

and  finding  a  victim  in  childish  innocence.  What 
is  a  playful  prank  in  youth  becomes  a  factor  of  suc 
cess,  or  of  what  the  world  calls  success,  in  real  life. 

Grandfather  knows  the  trick,  none  better,  for  he 
has  been  among  men  who  have  gone  up  or  gone 
down  in  the  matching  of  wits;  and  he  grimly  smiles 
while  he  reprovingly  shakes  his  finger  at  the  young 
offender. 

But  the  curly-head  wants  an  answer  and  the 
grandfather  makes  this  reply  : 

"  That's  where  you've  got  your  old  gran'-dad 
where  his  hair's  short.  You  see  I've  never  been  to 
heaven,  but  no  spot  or  place'd  be  heaven  to  me, 
without  horses." 

"  Nor  without  men  who  love  horses,  and  treat 
them  kindly,"  comes  a  musical  voice  from  behind 
a  rose-bush  just  below  the  rail  of  the  piazza.. 

"  If  you  don't  let  up  there,  sis,  I'll  be  takin'  stock 
in  all  that  they've  been  sayin'  in  the  papers  about 
'yours  very  truly  '  and  Crazy  Jane,"  Lewis  Dunbar 
answers,  "  and  I'm  not  makin'  pretty  faces  at  my 
self  in  the  lookin'-glass  any  more." 

"  All  the  stories,  Uncle  Lew,  except  the  one  that 
you  died  some  years  ago  as  that  Boston  paper  has 


IN  AFTER  YEARS.  305 

it,"  Hillyer  puts  in,  having  appeared  at  the  door 
way  in  season  to  catch  the  drift  of  the  talk  for 
which  the  mischievous  Lewis  Dunbar  Hillyer  has 
unintentionally  given  the  cue. 

"  If  I'm  a  dead  cock  in  the  pit,  my  boy,  why  don't 
you  call  the  book  you're  writin*  about  me  '  Born 
Agin  ?'  How'd  that  sound  ?  " 

"  I've  got  a  better  title." 

"What  is  it,  Robert?"  This  from  behind  the 
rose-bush. 

"I've  just  made  up  my  mind.  It's  to  be  'Your 
Uncle  Lew.'  " 

THE  END. 


